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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25700455">Restoring Her Shine</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allabouttherrelationship/pseuds/Allabouttherrelationship'>Allabouttherrelationship</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Chicago Fire</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>#brettsey, F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:21:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>36,151</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25700455</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allabouttherrelationship/pseuds/Allabouttherrelationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Normally optimistic and positive Sylvie Brett has finally experienced enough grief and loss that she feels dead. Matthew Casey will be the one to assist her in finding hope again, perhaps they will find a new relationship with each other along the way.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sylvie Brett/Matthew Casey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>92</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>241</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Numb, Void, Dead</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey all,<br/>This is the first time I have ever written in the Chicago Fire Fandom. But its a show I adore, and this relationship between Matt and Sylvie I totally ship. I hope that I have nailed the characters but am completely open to any suggestions to make the upcoming chapters better. Also I suck at grammar, spelling and there will likely be typos so let me know so I can make changes. Also, please please please send your comments, they are food for my soul and will keep this story continuing.<br/>Thanks<br/>allabouttherelationship</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was the beginning of shift; fire fighters and paramedics begin relaxing in to the hummed rhythm that is Station 51. Arrived early, Mathew Casey is already settled into a foothill of paper work and his second cup of decayed coffee, remnants of the previous shift. Despite the focus on his task, he experiences comfort and solace in the babble heard through the ajar door of his quarters. Ritter and Gallo are deep in the enthralls of joint meal planning for the house, Ritter attempting to convince Gallo to try a Mooracan dish that his boyfriend Eric had whipped up on the weekend. Herman is herding Mouch into his newest money scheme for Molly's, apparently something about introducing a new line of fruity beers to attract the younger female demographic. Mouch responds to this proposal with a typical grunt. Kelly's Squad 3 guys are heard breaking out a deck of cards, a competitive game of Blackjack to be had. Matt smirks internally wondering what the stakes will be today, toilet scrubbing or shower stall cleaning are the common currencies. Lastly, there is the up tempo chatter of woman's voices, increasing in volume. Foster is relaying a story of her most recent male conquest, she really is like a piranha in the dating field.</p><p> </p><p>Then he overhears, "Omg Stella it was epic, the poor guy was completely blindsided" the voice seems to outperform the other in his mind. He notes a tickling in his spine causing him to sit up in his chair impossibly straighter. The sound of that particular voice seems to have both a calming and exciting effect as it belongs to the one and only, Sylvie Brett.</p><p> </p><p>He glances upward just as the trio breeze past his door still in mid conversation, but Brett's eyes catch to his.</p><p> </p><p>"Captain Casey" Sylvie says as a greeting and with her typical multi-watt smile.</p><p> </p><p>"PIC Brett" Matt responds in kind but amusement tickles the corner of his lips.</p><p> </p><p>Even with the brief exchange she easily keeps stride and conversation with her chosen sisters. He is unrealized to the fact that he has continued to follow her not only with his eyes but similarly with his rolling chair out the threshold of his doorway.</p><p> </p><p>That's until he is kicked lightheartedly in the leg. It jolts his attention to Kelly Severide, arms crossed, leaning against the glass surrounding his office. Matt registers his recent actions as red tints his face.</p><p> </p><p>"Hey" Severide says with a 'I caught you staring' grin.</p><p> </p><p>'Well shit,' he thinks, Sev was definitely witness to his stalking like behavior. 'Just ignore him' the voices in his brain chant in unison.</p><p> </p><p>"Hey," Matt answers while attempting to casually roll his chair back to is proper location.</p><p> </p><p>"What you are looking at?" Kelly as rhetorically.</p><p> </p><p>"Nothing," Matt says, not meeting his friends' face because he doesn't need too. He can hear the smug grin plastered there. He pretends to busy himself again with paperwork as Severide leave his space with an entertained chuckle.</p><p> </p><p>XXX</p><p> </p><p>After slogging through incident reports and furlough requests, words and numbers start to indistinguishable blur. His third cup of coffee is sought out in the lunchroom. His intention is to immediately return to those words and numbers, but he pauses to stare out the window to the apparatus bay. His eyes padlock to a particular blonde, clipboard in hand, near the open Ambo doors in full concentration but a soft smile rests on her glorious face.</p><p> </p><p>He really has no registration of the duration his gaze before he hears… "Again Case, I'm becoming embarrassed for you". Kelly is all but laughing aloud taking position beside him.</p><p> </p><p>"You're not going to kick me again are you?" he hesitantly quires.</p><p> </p><p>"I might, how about in the ass this time? Seriously, how much longer are going to continue swooning over her before you move on that?" Severide asks as he jerks his chin understandingly towards Brett.</p><p> </p><p>"I am not swooning," Matt stubbornly denies.</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, this is definitely swooning my man! Hold on a sec, I'll grab my dictionary so you can see the picture of your gushing face etched right next to the word," Kelly says it as he retreats a few steps backward like he is going to make good on his promise.</p><p> </p><p>"Shut up, you don't own a dictionary" is the best response Matt has.</p><p> </p><p>He continues to regard her, moving through the frustrating, constant and recently formed turnstile of thoughts regarding Sylvie for the millionth time. The effect dizzies him like a Tilt-a-whirl at a state fair. His relationship with Sylvie seemed to be in constant state of morph ever since Gabby left him, well actually, them; Because in essence they both lost her. The rage, sorrow, guilt and ache were a mutual experience and they seemed to exchange and care for each other throughout those sentiments. It had become their 'thing', to confide and seek each other consistently, engaging in a sort of emotional vulnerability. They had stripped walls and shields and she had become his steadiness and grounding, an anchoring point.</p><p> </p><p>She held zero back from him, giving equally in measure her trust. This was foreign to him for any sort of relationship. She has shared when the adoption intermediary had approached, she had allowed her to company her to Rockford to attempt a meet with her bio mom, and he had been the one she called when her mother went into to labor and passed away in child birth. It was an unaccustomed freeing feeling, one that made Matt feel important and valued. He admitted that it had become addicting. As was the manner in which she validated his decision making while complimenting his worth as a man. His chest would puff slightly at the weight of her words. She had gone out of her way to check the status of victim on calls because she in her insight she knew it matter to him. She seemed to know him well.</p><p> </p><p>What he admired and adored most of all was her ability to wade through the shit of life still shinning a bright as sunshine. It was a relentless optimism with a depth he could not fathom. Admiring and adoration had morphed to attraction. There were flirty, coy glances and almost moments increasing in number and frequency. Moments in which he was hopeless not to stare, as breath became trapped in his chest, tingles skipped down his spine or he internally groaned at the heat ignited in his blood, all because of her.</p><p> </p><p>For a while now she was often the 'nothing' he referred to when anyone asked what he was thinking about. But it wasn't nothing, she was far from nothing.</p><p> </p><p>Overall, she had become one of his best friends. Terror griped him to consider losing that over some romantic feelings, but perhaps they could be something even more incredible together. He was caught on a precipice, he could step back from its edge or hurl himself off the cliff. But he had been stuck there for months unwilling to commit either way.</p><p> </p><p>Matt finally speaks again, "She has a lot on her plate right now, losing Otis, the break up with the Chaplin, finding and losing her bio mom… it not a great time." It's his self-convincing mantra aloud which only adds to his indecision.</p><p> </p><p>"Don't wait, the time will never be just right," Kelly quips patting his shoulder then presumably heading back to his own quarters.</p><p> </p><p>In the next minute Scott, Julie's husband, enters the bay. There is verbal exchange between Scott and Sylvie. She is fiddling at her watch band, a habit apparent to him when she is panicked or worried. Sylvie's smile remains a fixed but even at this distance, Matt notes it is strained, not reaching the clear blue of her eyes. He feels his own brow wrinkle with apprehension and his gut flip in slow motion.</p><p> </p><p>As Scott leaves the bay, Sylvie's' body slumps with anguish against the drivers' door of the ambo. Her hand covers her face and shoulders quiver without control.</p><p> </p><p>Matt charges forward with unease. Alarms ring, AMBO 61, TRUCK 81, ENGINE 51, SQUAD 3 duplex fire 6th and Westchester Street. Argh, the universe and its ill-fated timing.</p><p> </p><p>His direction is set to truck 81, in mid stride observes Sylvie straighten her spine to its professional posture, shake out her hands near her thighs, then spin tearing open the door to jump in the driver's seat of the ambulance.</p><p> </p><p>XXX</p><p> </p><p>The duplex fire had been intense, but good saves were made. Unfortunately, overhaul had taken forever because one side of the duplex had belonged to a hoarder. He never understood that particular addiction or illness, he liked the simplicity of hand-made items, memories and people, they were always more valuable.</p><p> </p><p>Reflecting on people, his first intention clamoring down from 81 is to locate Sylvie. Ambo is parked obviously having been back from Chicago med for a period. He begins his search, but it gets stalled by Chief Boden in the hallway.</p><p> </p><p>"Casey," Boden hollers walking toward him.</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah Chief?" Matt responds still glancing around for blonde hair.</p><p> </p><p>"Just wanted to let you know that I've pulled Ambo from service for an hour or so," He states.</p><p> </p><p>Matt frowns as Boden continues. "Brett went home sick. I have called a relief paramedic, Ambulance 61 will be put back in service when they arrive".</p><p> </p><p>"Sick?" Casey asks hearing his own astonishment in his voice.</p><p> </p><p>"She mentioned a migraine," Boden says. "The pain must have been bad, she seemed… flat."</p><p> </p><p>Flat? That is not a descriptor ever assigned by anyone in reference to Sylvie Brett. The way the Chief used it, Matt wonders if he too is worried. Or perhaps he is just projecting his own uneasiness onto the Chief.</p><p> </p><p>And a migraine? He has never known Sylvie to suffer from migraines, ever, in the 6 years he has known her. The slow flip in his gut occurs for a second time. Years of experience and intuition in the field had him pay close attention to that experience and often consumes him with discomfort.</p><p> </p><p>"Err maybe I'll check in about her with Foster," Matt offers with slight distraction.</p><p> </p><p>"You do that," Boden replies. Nope, Matt realizes, not a projection, that was concern mixed expertly with an unstated order.</p><p> </p><p>"Copy that Chief," Matt says already making tracks to find Foster.</p><p> </p><p>XXX</p><p> </p><p>He locates Emily in the bunk-room among co-workers. "Foster, Brett went home sick?" he start as if it's an interrogation.</p><p> </p><p>"Well hello to you too Casey," Foster's eyebrow arching probably at his directness. She continues on "Yes, Sylvie has gone home, just waiting on relief".</p><p> </p><p>"How did she seem to you?" Matt asks a little quieter given the others in the room. Foster meets his eyes like she is trying to decipher a code.</p><p> </p><p>"She seemed okay, complained about a headache coming back from med… Is there something else I should know?" she asks.</p><p> </p><p>"Did she say anything to you about a visit from Scott?" he offers, not wanting to share anything Sylvie might not. It wasn't his place.</p><p> </p><p>"No," it seemed to be Foster's turn to frown. "What do I need to know Casey?"</p><p> </p><p>Matt rubs at the back of his neck aggressively. He doesn't really know anything, other than his observed reaction in the bay and his intuitive stomach flipping. "Not sure yet… I will let you know" he says it with promise. Foster nods with a quiet comprehension.</p><p> </p><p>The next course of action he considers is phoning her directly, but he reasons against this in the event she is resting. A text message he deems completely appropriate. He types…</p><p> </p><p>-Hey Sylvie, just check up on you since you went home sick. I'm here if you need anything, I mean anything -Matt</p><p> </p><p>He stares for a few minutes at the screen, willing the Bing of a response to ease his nerves. Nothing. He lets out a huff of frustration. He wants nothing more that to jump in his truck, speed to her house and envelop her in one of their routine embraces, so he can be confident that she well and safe.</p><p> </p><p>Unfortunately, continued bells going off force him to redirect his focus until the end of shift at 8 am.</p><p> </p><p>At the end of shift Matt catches up with Foster in the locker room, "You headed home?" he asks. He is really seeking to find out if Foster will be checking in on Brett.</p><p> </p><p>"No, I have back to back spin classes to teach this morning," Foster replies.</p><p> </p><p>She shuts her locker to fully face him. "If you're that worried Captain perhaps you should go check in, yourself?" Emily's perception is spot on and its almost a small challenge issued in her words. What she aware of his feelings toward Sylvie?</p><p> </p><p>Matt doesn't respond other than a firm nod.</p><p> </p><p>XXX</p><p> </p><p>Despite the unspoken challenge he still reasons himself to head home. There is an hour of intense restlessness. He is certain sleep will be elusive so fails to even try. Construction bidding seems confusing really it shouldn't be. He even fucks up his laundry by adding laundry soap in the dryer. He is now well beyond worry and fully done with the radio silence.</p><p> </p><p>He lasts another twenty minutes before he is flying out the door, truck keys in hand, determination coursing like electrical current through his body. He only hesitates momentarily, when his fist is hovering to rap on her door. A hint of uncertainty ripples through him for of his next action. Sylvie has always sought him out herself, when she was ready and willing to share. He acknowledges to himself that his current actions are both uncharacteristic and impatient but the vision of her slumped against Ambo flies forward again forces him to knock with insistence. 'Screw it,' he says inwardly, 'I'll ask for forgiveness later'.</p><p> </p><p>His first knock generates no response. He shuffles his feet back and forth with nerves. Knocking again and yelling out "Brett, open up!" in his best Captain voice, hoping it will generate a desired action just like on a scene. He recalls her vehicle parked out front, that combined with her lack of response jacks his concern to red alert status. What if she's blackout? Done waiting he turns around to issue his best fireman's kick to her front door, but it's unnecessary as he registers its unbolting and swinging ajar.</p><p> </p><p>He swiftly rotates himself forward, eyes locking on her, his heart gets placed in a cold vice. The pressure begins increasing exponentially and is drawn-out. The typical function of it struggling to continue to push blood in regular rhythm against cold gripped steal. He has to slog hard at the functions of inhaling and exhaling.</p><p> </p><p>She is wearing fuzzy socks and CFD sweats, a blanket draped around her shoulders held tightly at her waist like she is trying to hide from a chill.</p><p> </p><p>But the vice on his heart is direct correlation to her face, it's all in her face, and more specifically her eyes. They are not watery or red as he had expected, riddled with worry or sorrow, what he is sees is way more terrifying. They seem stilled, muted and pained to him admit, near death. Like her spark of life has been seized from her being.</p><p> </p><p>"Sylvie?" slips from his lips as a pleading whisper.</p><p> </p><p>She retreats from the doorway without a verbal response. He tails inward choosing to see it as an invitation. Who is he kidding, invitation or not, the tackle of an entire football team could not keep him from entering and silently closing the door behind them.</p><p> </p><p>She is centered in the living-room, seemingly lost in purpose as he approaches again. In her person space he practically begs, "Jesus Sylvie talk to me, please" it comes out with a hoarseness he can't control.</p><p> </p><p>His hands move to grip her shoulders, they itch to shake her small frame. Shake her into a resemblance or indication of a feeling, any feeling. A laugh, a scream, God he would even accept all out womanly balling at this point. Anything but this flat, bleak affect.</p><p> </p><p>"Harrison, Kyle, Antonio, Peter, Chili, Jimmy, Gabby, Otis, Julie… Amelia," She verbalizes.</p><p> </p><p>It's simply a list, but Matt knows its meaning, it's her long list of grief and loss in the past and over the recent year.</p><p> </p><p>"Amelia?" he asks with confusion as to why her baby sister would be included.</p><p> </p><p>"Scott is moving back to Rockford" she supplies.</p><p> </p><p>Fuck, its not across the globe but it is enough hours away. Much farther that Sylvie would want to be the active participate she desires in her sister’s life. </p><p> </p><p>"I'm so sorry Sylvie" are his only words he says aloud. He wants to push out some optimistic phrases, but in the wake of that lengthy and heartbreaking list he feels like it would be cruel to even attempt. She is typically the one to see the bright-side, the sliver-lining, the glass half full and to speak to it. He knows its not coming this time, this is the foot of her barrel of hope that he had previously imagined to be bottomless.</p><p> </p><p>"Matt," her voice is like a dark shadow now, "I feel numb, void… dead."</p><p> </p><p>There it is, he had thought it before but hearing it drop from her mouth shred painfully at his insides. He briefly squeezes his own eyes tight to ward off any accumulation of tears.</p><p> </p><p>"What can I do Sylvie, tell me what you need me to do?" desperation rings in his word. Without doubt his answer will be yes, to anything and everything she asks in this minute.</p><p> </p><p>"Kiss me" comes out in the softest of breaths. He almost doesn't hear it, but because of its content it reverberates in his mind and body.</p><p> </p><p>"I need to feel… something" she adds.</p><p>XXX</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Don’t Brush It Aside or Wipe It Away. Feel It.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey readers,<br/>   Thank you all for your Kudos and encouraging comments! I promise you I read everyone (sometimes multiple times) as juice for the next chapter. <br/>   This chapter may surprise some individuals regarding Casey's actions. I recognize Casey is a man who would never take advantage of a woman, he is too good for that! But his feelings for Brett are strong both as a friend and romantically. I hope that I wrote his internal conflict and reasoning for his actions to everyone's understanding and satisfaction. Please please, love it or leave it, let me know what you think!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What can I do Sylvie, tell me what you need me to do?” desperation rings in his words. Without doubt his answer will be yes, to anything and everything she asks in this minute.</p><p> </p><p>“Kiss me” comes out in the softest of breaths. He almost doesn’t hear it, but because of its content it reverberates in his mind and body. <br/>“I need to feel… something” she adds.</p><p> </p><p>He fights off the preliminary shock of her request like that of the black clouded moment after being hit in the head, and the need to actually shake it to rearrange the fragmented pieces. Following that, his initial thoughts yelped, ‘No, not like this’. He has had compounding and everyday hallucinations about their first kiss, imagining the setting and circumstances, even the nature the kiss. He had imagined a flirty peck, a smoldering smash and or a lazy passionate exploration but in each of those dreams Sylvie would be her radiant self. Not this broken woman standing before him.</p><p> </p><p>Yet it was her sole request and need in her apparent ocean of bleakness. And she has asked him. He realized that this was because she trusted him with this, even though he doesn’t really trust himself. She trusts him to bring her back from hell. Perhaps unwise, yet with resolution he realizes he can, he will, he wants to do this for her.</p><p> </p><p>He steps up, hands framing tenderly to her face. Despite his deep callouses on the pads of his thumbs he registers the satin of her skin, brushing them across her delicate cheek bones. Tilting her head upwards, her eye lids quietly shut before him. He dips his own chin moving towards her at a self-inflicted agonizing pace. He wills his eyes to remain open until the last possible second to take in any sign of uncertainty or reservation by Sylvie. There is none.</p><p> </p><p>His first pass is a ghost or whisper of his mouth across hers. The texture of her mouth is softer than cotton candy, and just as sweet in his briefest of tastes. He touches his mouth to hers a second time, painstakingly gentle but full and warm blooded.</p><p> </p><p>He holds it for a few seconds curious again if this is truly what she really wants, or needs, until he feels her fingers encompass his forearms silently as if she is willing him to continue. It is followed by the slightest movement of her mouth against his. That small action is mesmerizing. He reminds himself with all his self-control of his intent, because her answering this movements have ignited a flashover in his body and mind. ‘Gentle, careful, sensitive, selfless’, he chants to himself, that is how this kiss needs to remain, he can’t allow it to become inflamed with his own needs or wants. </p><p> </p><p>It is hardly his first time kissing a woman, but it was the first kiss that seemed to truly matter in his life. He gives to her the breath that he had had been holding tight in his chest. To breath into her hope, reminding her of the light in spite of being surrounded by darkness. </p><p> </p><p>Still cupping her face, he inches his head back. Now he sees that her lips are pinked and slightly swollen and a gentle temperature has touched her cheeks bones under his thumbs. She is utterly gorgeous. Registering his own reactions, he notes that her smell, sweet and tart, like summer ripe raspberries has permeated his nose and has remained imprisoned causing him a splendid wooziness. To add to the effect, giving her breath had also winded him of his own, which has him gasping like he did as a new candidate having climbed 20 stories in drills. Lastly, the thrusting of his heartbeat, ricochets deafeningly in his head and body like an irregular bass drum, as the kick beats against the confides of his chest. </p><p> </p><p>He then witnesses it, a single solitary tear accumulate at the corner of Sylvie’s eye. Time slows as it begins its trek downward, leaving a glistening trail. He feels one of her hands release his forearm, movement towards her own face. He gently intervenes, encasing her wrist. “No, don’t brush it aside or wipe it away. Feel it, it’s real. It’s okay. I’ve got you,” he says with a soft whisper.</p><p> </p><p>A second tear follows identically the path of the first. He continues to stare into the depths of crystal blue eyes as they glisten with moisture. Sylvie then shoves herself into Matt, with surprising force. Matt thanks years of balance and reflexes that allow him to keep them upright. Her arms band around his torso, she is tightly fisting the fabric of his shirt like a drowning victim holds a life preserver. Her head is snug against his chest and wedged under his chin. It is like an inch of space between their bodies would be considered too much, but Matt will offer no complaint. He clutches her just as securely. Then it comes, the flood in a dry stream bed. Like the shaking rumble of on coming water, it starts with the shutter of her shoulders, cascading until her entire body is trembling. Like the growing sound of water rushing your direction, he hears her gentle sobs which transition to ill and painful moans. Now the he can tell the water is gushing from her eyes, by the moisture leaking through his shirt to his own skin.  All Matt can think about Sylvie’s presentation is ‘thank God’. This he can assist in damming up, this he can wade through with her or hell, even swing her over his shoulder in the charging waters to carry her to safety. </p><p> </p><p>They stand in this position rooted to one another, perhaps for an eternity, Matt isn’t wholly aware. But he is certain that he will not let go, even if she were to attempt pull back or away at this point, he doesn’t believe that he could release her. He mumbles softly in her ear “I’ve got you” with such repetition he wonders if he has lost capability to express any other words. But he needs her to hear it, needs her to know it, needs her to believe it. He means “I’ve got you” even in the absence of her own ability or courage to simply be in her own emotions.   </p><p> </p><p>He knows that the flood is starting to wane as time lengthens between each tremor of her body and tear staining sobs become quietly muted. She seems to sigh into his body, impossibly closer, and completely expended. He wishes, longs for her to speak, to share like the many times previously but reasons that she is physically and emotionally spent. He opens his mouth to suggest that she requires rest just as he hears the front door unlatch. </p><p> </p><p>Matt is still holding Sylvie but she angles back her head to connect her eyes with Foster who has stepped through the doorway. Foster immediately registers Sylvie’s tear marked face and red swollen eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Sylvie”, Foster utters in horror rushes forward like a mother bear.  He thinks Sylvie seems to reluctantly move away from his embrace but she does. He has to take a few quick steps backwards as Foster barrels between them. She immediately envelops Sylvie in a sisterly hug.  His eyes remain tethered to hers as during the embrace as Sylvie’s chin rests over her friends’ shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>Matt hears Foster say “I don’t know what’s going on but you are going to spill it over a pint of Rocky Road, just as soon as I clean up. Spin class has left me smelling like the tongue sweat of a donkey. Give me 10 minutes girl, I’m all yours” she pats Sylvie affectionately and makes haste in the direction of the bedrooms.</p><p> </p><p>Once Foster has departed the room, Matt remains standing a few feet apart from Sylvie. The distance seems far, like a giant canyon, after all that had just transpired. He is unbelievably uncertain of how to proceed from this point.  He knows that the healthiest course would be for her to talk, to share how she is feeling again, which is likely what Foster has in mind along with a tub of dairy. He tries to ignore the tiny prangs of jealousy that it will be Foster instead of him. The important part is that she talks to someone he reasons, Foster is just as capable. ‘But not invested in the same manner’, an annoyingly small voice adds in his head.</p><p> </p><p>He also knows without a doubt that ‘the kiss’ requires discussion, but there isn’t time to unpack that before Foster returns to the living-room. And they would likely both benefit from reflection on that piece. Reflection… for him it is more likely to be repetitious and agonizing slow motion replays for the foreseeable future.   </p><p> </p><p>“So” he mumbles, “ I guess I should be going now…” he is unsure if it is a question or statement but either way is pains him to utter because it is far from what he wants. </p><p> </p><p>She is now looking downwards at his feet but offers a short nod. Is that her in agreement? he wonders to himself. </p><p> </p><p>He steps back into the chasm that had annoyingly grown between their bodies. He places a single finger under her chin, tipping it up, to bring their eyes together for a final connection. In this position he could easily kiss her again, God he wants too, but he knows it wouldn’t be right. He’s still has processed if the first one was well, ‘right’.  </p><p> </p><p>“Can I ask you for a favor?” Matt knows that proposing what he wants this way, she is likely to agree. She can rarely say no to a requested favor. He realizes it is a bit manipulative but reasons that he has to know that she is okay after his departure, that she hasn’t slipped back into the darkened petrifying place he found her in. <br/>“Promise me that you will text me back or answer the phone if I call between now and next shift?” He wants to believe that his request is solely for her benefit, but it’s an utter lie. He needs her to commit to this for his own selfish reasons. He won’t be able to walk out that door without an assurance of confirming her wellbeing in the near future. He reasons that this will likely also save Sylvie from having to replace her front door, when he becomes too anxious and bothered by another bout of radio silence.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes” she responds, as he hears Foster’s impending return. He nods curtly and takes leave, offering a lingering glance over his shoulder as he closes the door. </p><p> </p><p>XXX</p><p> </p><p>Matt arrives home, not recalling the details of his drive because his head continues to swirl like a flushing toilet. Severide appears to survey him upon his entry into their apartment. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey man where were you? You kind of look like shit…” he says. Leave it to Kelly to point out the obvious.</p><p> </p><p>“I was with Sylvie” Matt responds quietly. Sylvie not Brett, giving a not so subtle indication to his best friend that this it is not work related.</p><p> </p><p>Severide only responds with a raised brow awaiting further explanation.</p><p> </p><p>“I kissed her” Matt blurts out with a huff, while scraping his hands across his face, then plowing them into his hair as he begins a bout of classic Casey pacing. </p><p> </p><p>“Why don’t you seem happy about that?” Kelly questions with noticeable confusion.</p><p> </p><p>“It was all wrong” Matt quips mid stride.</p><p> </p><p>“All wrong?” Severide echoes.</p><p> </p><p>“But she asked me to do it” he adds.</p><p> </p><p>“She asked?” is reiterated. </p><p> </p><p>“Are you just going to just keep repeating everything I say?” Matt asks with frustration at his long-time friend.</p><p> </p><p>“Probably… until you give me something concrete to work with,” Sev adds with a smirk.</p><p> </p><p>“Asshat!” Matt mutters knowing Kelly hears him.</p><p> </p><p>Severide grabs a couple long necks from the fridge, tosses one at Matt. “Sit down, start at the beginning” he says.</p><p> </p><p>Matt tells his best friend, without reservation every detail his interaction with Sylvie. He explains Scott’s visit to the station, Sylvie’s escape from work under the guise of a migraine, her haunting presentation at her apartment which terrified the shit out of him, her request to be kissed and its aftermath, and even the promise she made which he sort-of maneuvered her into agreement prior to his dismissal.</p><p> </p><p>Matt notes Kelly listens with intent, but never disturbs his outpouring.  </p><p> </p><p>When Matt is finally finished, he drains the remainder of his beer in a hard swallow and begins to pick industriously at the label. </p><p> </p><p>“So how was it? Kelly questions “Kissing Brett?” Matt meets Kelly’s gaze somewhat expecting to see a gloating, or a ‘give me the dets’ expression. But instead there is only general curiosity and solidarity.</p><p> </p><p>Matt turns his head away but answers with a single honest word, “Incredible.” </p><p> </p><p>“So, you would want to do it again?” Kelly pries further.</p><p> </p><p>“Hell yeah… that’s the problem with a first kiss, that nagging hope for a second,” he shakes his head in exasperation. </p><p> </p><p>”Now that you’ve got a taste…” Kelly adds in understanding but without need to finish his sentence.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck, now how am I going to keep my hands off her?”</p><p> </p><p>“Doesn’t really sound like she wants you too” Kelly comments.</p><p> </p><p>Matt shoots him a curt eyebrow. “It was a usual circumstance” he responds.</p><p> </p><p>“Well that maybe true, but I know she would not have asked just anyone she knows or is friends with for that particular favor, that’s not Brett. And it wasn’t because she needed a quickie and you were the only guy in the room, she probably could have wandered out to the street that exact moment and asked any straight guy who would have happily obliged.” Matt shifts uncomfortably in his chair at these points, trying again to mute voices of jealousy and protectiveness. </p><p> </p><p>“However,” Kelly continues, “I’m betting you coverage of a night’s tab at Molly’s that whatever the circumstances, she made the request to you, only you, for a reason. Buried beneath all the shit she has experienced, is a simple fact that she wants to be with you too, in something other than a platonic relationship. Maybe she isn’t fully aware, maybe she is absolutely aware and isn’t verbalizing it for whatever are her reasons, but either way it has seeped out, just like in your obvious and awkward swooning. Like I said yesterday, there is always going to be shit in life, maybe exploring being together is exactly helps you both wade through it.”</p><p> </p><p>Matt is sure his face is the picture of dumbfounded and his mouth likely gaping while staring at his best friend. Kelly has always been smart, but damm that was actually plausible and perceptive. </p><p> </p><p>“So, I should…” he is asking for direction, why not, because he has obvious entered some alternate universe.</p><p> </p><p>Kelly snickers, “I heard talking often works, or I guess you could just kiss her again.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well crap, I’m finally in a situation where the insights and advice of Kelly Severide has become my voice of reason…” Matt’s own bewilderment echoes in his words.</p><p> </p><p>Kelly laughs aloud, “I know man, your world has gone to shit, enjoy your time on the Merry-go-round.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Take a Deep Breath and Push It Back Out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey all,</p><p>   This one is a little shorter but significant. As always tell me what you think, love all your comments and kudos!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next morning Sylvie sits in the cozy arm-chair at her apartment, sipping what is supposed to be a reassuring cup of Earl Grey. All the while she trying to mentally wade through the debacle that she feels is currently her life. The tea unfortunately is not assisting as planned, as her mind continues to be a chaos of scrutiny.<br/>


She had actually awakened just a few hours prior on the adjacent couch, her good friend Emily asleep beside on the floor like a loyal canine. Her arm had been draped of the couch and Em had her hand clasped with surprising forte, given her own state of dreamland. A great friend to have tethered herself to Sylvie for an entire evening and nights’ rest. True to her friends’ promise they had consumed copious volumes of Rocky Road, eating directly with spoons from the tub while Sylvie shared Scott’s announcement about moving away. Thankfully Emily had not asked any probing questions about what had occurred with Matt just prior to her arrival at home. Her friend had already fled for the morning leaving Sylvie to her current pensive state. </p><p> </p><p>She knew that Scott’s decision was completely understandable and reasonable, a desire to be near his family and a community that he trusts while raising a child. He had made it very clear to Sylvie during the exchange that he still wanted her to be an active part of Amelia’s life and extended the offer to visit anytime. She believed this to be genuine. She reasoned that the impact of his decision on her life was actually fairly minor, in comparison to everything else that had occurred of recent. But it was part of compounding loss. Like the last piece a player removes from the game of Janga before the tower of precarious wooden pieces crashes down in a noisy clatter. </p><p> </p><p>Of course, the ringing of bells had caused need for initial stuffing. She had been okay during the call, years of practice allowing for automated and second nature responses during treatment of the patient. </p><p> </p><p>It was on the drive returning to 51 that it really hit, like running into solid concrete. Thinking about the loss of the type of relationship she had desired with Amelia. Because truly it would not be the same as if they remained in Chicago, reminder her of early loss of Julie. They had had such little time together to really discover what a relationship might have been. She had wanted a thousand answers to the thousands of questions about her birth mom and bio family, but that had been robbed from her reality.</p><p> </p><p>Somehow, she became imprisoned in a vivid hallucination of grief and loss. In it she observed herself pacing down this long stark hallway, this reversing timeline of her life. The passage was white and plain, except for enormous framed photos which coated the walls. Amelia’s tiny face was in the first picture, Sylvie felt herself smile softly because really who couldn’t smile at a baby.</p><p> </p><p>Julie’s picture was next, a still from her visual memory of the first time she had arrived at the Firehouse, and the immediate recognition of her identity before she even spoke. </p><p> </p><p>Otis, dear co-worker, roommate and friend greeted her in her next steps forward. He too was smiling with an impish grin but Sylvie read discomfort and sadness in his eyes. Was that for himself or her she wondered. This one had hurt, a lot.</p><p> </p><p>Kyle’s photo next took her briefly by surprise, but she immediately recognized its significance, the deficit of another broken commitment. A choice she had thought she had made in wisdom and love but had been an escape from the loss of others. </p><p> </p><p>Photos of additional relationship losses continued to contour the hallway, as Gabby’s, Anotonio’s, and Hope’s faces were centered in the frames. Each individuals’ expression became increasingly sorrowful.  She kept moving forward as the light in the corridor became sucked away with each step. She also registered that it seemed to become cooler, to the point that she crossed her arms protectively across her chest to keep away forming chills. By the time she reached Jimmy’s she unquestionably reasoned that she didn’t want to move any further, but now there seemed to be an unseen force pushing her onward, into the darkened and bleak place.</p><p> </p><p>Chili, Peter and Harrison were the last of the photos, by now she herself felt like the shadows cast by dimmed light on the walls. She finally turned around to survey the length of the entire corridor. She realized, she really should be balling in mourning or screaming in pain but the long journey had left her with… nothing. She felt empty, void, almost lifeless. </p><p> </p><p>Absent of emotion; the lifeless feeling, had brought about her about her request to go home sick. The excuses of a migraine a blatant lie, the first she had ever told a commanding officer, but she really had no capacity to share what had actually transpiring inside. Even now, she wondered if she could put it into actual words. But she knew she felt hollow, like the world had drained her of everything she had. </p><p> </p><p>Of course, it would be Matt to arrive at her door while she was in that horrid state. Because the universe was either viciously cruel or magnificently wise, yet to be established in her opinion. And in that void state she had asked Matt to kiss her? “What in all the stars was I thinking?” She asked audibly to the vacant room. Well, in all authenticity she wasn’t at that point. Because if she had been … she outwardly groaned, “ifs” were useless to her current circumstances.</p><p> </p><p>Matthew Casey had become and remained her truest friend in the past years, months and days. Especially since Gabby’s hurtful departure. Together they had discovered a common ground, aiding the construction of a firm foundation of trust and communal reliance. She had leaned into that trust wholeheartedly in the events that had followed involving Otis, Kyle, Julie… He had surprisingly reciprocated although not to the same extent. Matt Casey was unaccustomed to requiring others, likely a mandatory choice because of his childhood. But she was confident that he had imparted to her more of his heart than he had sanctioned anyone else in his sphere, even Gabby. Matt exuded loyalty, steadiness, reassurance, oozing graciously from his pores. Sylvie knew it could really become an obsession to be the company of that type of man.  The depth of confiding to him had become so intimate, it scared her at times because of how easily she could tell him things that she couldn’t even tell herself.</p><p> </p><p>That intimacy was detected and had sparked comments from Stella and Emily about her compatibility with Matt on a romantic level, which she had ruefully ignored. However tactless her friends were in their statements; it was not just them who commented. Others including her spin class instructor and even Julie had alluded to a detected chemistry. She had dutifully chosen to remain in a state of denial. She denied when butterflies seemed to hatch in her stomach at his sudden presence, she denied when her skin remained scorched long after he had touched her and she denied when his comprehensive and attentive stare made her squirm slightly below her waist. Because entertaining any of that in reference to Matt would undoubtedly draw her fully to the shelf holding Pandora’s box. And getting there she would conclusively be opening it. Besides, she was unconvinced that he would view their relationship as anything other than platonic. Even if he were open to the idea, there was the complication that his ex-wife was her ex-best-friend. Even with those “ex’s” in front those relationship descriptors there were unspoken rules, and social expectations to consider.    </p><p> </p><p>Therefore, it startled her, during her review of her awkward favor, that Matt had fulfilled her ask. Why? Well, most probable because he was Matthew ‘Fricken’ Casey and he would do anything for his friends, no other motive essential. Towards the end of the kiss she stomped down the faintest prickle of desire. She had no right to feel that at all. She berated herself with gusto for her betraying body or mind taking advantage of his benevolent heart.  And certainly, that kiss had crossed some invisible line in their friendship. She would have to deal with the aftereffects. He needed an explanation and deserved an apology, she thought with unease.         </p><p> </p><p>The recollection in that moment had her silently raising a hand to touch her finger-tips to her lips. His mouth on hers had been firm in texture but delicate and gentle in execution. In her deep abyss of blackness, his lips had brought back the smallest spark of light to her body and mind. In the end, the sensation of Matt’s act had allowed comprehensible emotions to reappear, which had emptied outwardly like hurrying and fierce water. In that minute, Matt had then become her life-raft, riding the moving waters until the currents subsided. She had clung barefaced to him like that was reality. There was security and comfort there pressed into his body and banded in his arms. She had in that moment willed the universe to allow her to stay an eternity. Unpleasantly it had concluded with Emily’s arrival home and Matt’s seemingly tentative departure. He had her promising to remain in contact during their off days, yet another part of the Matt Casey package, a fierce worry wrath and necessity to protect. He really was the whole package when it came to a man. </p><p> </p><p>She abandons her cupped tea to the coffee table when her phone lights up in the minute with a text message.    </p><p> </p><p>'Hey', are the words written under Matt’s name.</p><p> </p><p>'Hey', she responds. because of course she will honor the favor he requested.  </p><p> </p><p>'So, I have a very important question to ask and need you to answer honestly?'-Matt</p><p> </p><p>Here is it Sylvie thinks to herself, and she doesn’t really have her explanation or apology ready for what is likely coming.</p><p> </p><p>'How ridiculous would it be for me to attend a Tayor Swift concert?'-Matt</p><p> </p><p>Sylvie feels the tiniest bubble of a giggle forming deep in her chest.</p><p> </p><p>She types, 'I had no idea that you were a fan of Taytay?'-Sylvie</p><p>'Who?'-Matt</p><p> </p><p>'Taylor Swift, fans call her Taytay'-Sylvie</p><p> </p><p>'Oh, well Violet’s birthday is coming up, she’s the real fan. I was considering getting a couple tickets. But not sure.'-Matt</p><p> </p><p>'Hummm, going to a teenagers’ concert, some might consider it Sad, Beautiful, even Tragic.'-Sylvie</p><p> </p><p>'Yup tragic is definite possibility'-Matt</p><p> </p><p>'You are really Fearless for even considering it.'-Sylvie</p><p> </p><p>'Wait, SBT and Fearless, those songs of hers.'-Matt</p><p> </p><p>'Yes Matt. I think it’s a sweet idea, Violet would probably love spending time with her Uncle at a concert. Plus, the women there would think your adorbs decked out in Taytay merchandise.'-Sylvie</p><p> </p><p>'That would truly be a Picture To Burn.'-Matt</p><p> </p><p>'Nice! I’m sure you would be able Shake It Off'-Sylvie</p><p> </p><p>'Never Grow Up that will have to be my motto for enduring such an evening'-Matt</p><p> </p><p>'Says the almost 40 year old.'-Sylvie</p><p> </p><p>'OUCH!'-Matt</p><p> </p><p>'Delicate, are you?'-Sylvie</p><p> </p><p>'I Knew You Were Trouble'-Matt</p><p> </p><p>There is a longer pause in the exchange.</p><p> </p><p>'Is this stupid?' Is the next sentence that lights up her screen near Matt’s name.</p><p> </p><p>Sylvie touches her face to feel the smallest of smiles that had been gradually developing throughout the conversation. Nope not at all stupid she thinks to herself. </p><p> </p><p>Being real she types, 'Honestly Matt, our little stupid conversations always mean more to me than you think.'</p><p> </p><p>'To me too. See you on shift tmrw.'-Matt</p><p>XXX</p><p> </p><p>Next shift started off plainly sucking in Sylvie’s expert opinion. Because Sylvie finds herself positioned on hands and knees, ferociously trying to scrub at the floor of the Ambo after the last call. The cleaning power of bleach and Mr. Clean trying to remove the nauseating reek of barf.</p><p> </p><p>She is muttering outwardly to herself about her own stupidity.</p><p> </p><p>“Yuck, what was or was not brought back to life in there,” she hears from behind.</p><p> </p><p>She glances over around her body positioned on all fours to Captain Casey standing with a smirk and a clownish gesture of plugging his nose which she reasons if solely for dramatic effect.</p><p> </p><p>She huffs then offers explanation as she continues to scrub “Last call was to a frat house, its initiation week. Never understood the whole beer chugging part of entry into college. Our first victim was suffering from alcohol poisoning, after a Keg stand, he was still unconscious when we loaded him up. His two friends, also half drunk but alert enough to looking incredibly guilty and consumed with worry were like hovering mother hens. They were in no position to drive themselves to Med so I let them jump into the back. Not a breach of policy or protocol but not really a wise decision on my part. Foster took the wheel as I worked on Mr. Keg stand, he came too vomiting up half the keg on the Ambo floor”.</p><p> </p><p> “Well, sounds like a good save,” Matt said with thoughtfulness in his voice.</p><p> </p><p>“Yup, right until the sympathetic puking of his frat boys that followed, covering the Ambo in a sewage of revulsion.”   </p><p> </p><p>“Ahh, so where’s Foster? She is not helping?” he asks.</p><p> </p><p>“My mistake, my clean up. But she took pity on me and is tackling the gurney and backboard with the fire hose out back,” she says with a sigh.</p><p> </p><p>“Fire hose, yikes!, that bad huh?” his face is now a sympathetic grimace. “Well not the first time, incredibly unlikely to be the last time with bile on the Ambo floor. Your right it’s an ugly mess but hardly worthy of such a self-reprimand.” She guesses he must have overheard her earlier mumblings.  </p><p> </p><p>“It’s not just this” she says. She straights up, removing her rubber gloves and starting to climb out of the ambulance. Casey of course offers out his hand to assist her down. Hardly necessary but just Casey type behavior. “You have a few minutes… to listen?” she asks tentatively.</p><p> </p><p>Matt sits down on the tailgate of the Ambo. “I am yours until the bells go off” he says very seriously.</p><p> </p><p>She pushes down the emergent thought of ‘if only that were true’. Keep it in the denial bank she asserts inwardly. Instead she returns back to her intended direction of conversation, while taking sitting position next to him.</p><p> </p><p>“Of late, I feel like my life is a Shitastrophy,” she lets out with a huff.</p><p> </p><p>“A what? Is that an actual word?” Matt asks apparently trying to contain slight bemusement on his face. </p><p> </p><p>“A Shitastrophy… massive mess ups, fucked up situations and epic fails” she explains.</p><p> </p><p>“That is utterly adorable in terms of word choice but you are being way too hard on yourself Sylvie” he says.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not handling it well, any of it,” Sylvie leaks out with slight shame in her voice. “Look at my choices last shift, not to mention the what you experienced with me at the apartment.” </p><p> </p><p>She continues, “I just… I’ve always, always, been able to focus or identify a brighter side in my situation or my life in general. My strength and ability to wade through difficulties has always been in my positivity. But last shift…. I have never felt like that before Matt. It was like any and all hope was stripped from me, along with every other identifiable emotion. I would say it was shock but I know it’s not true in the medical sense of the word. It is deeper than that. You took me out of it, that deep shadow, so I could feel the anger, sorrow and grief but the hopelessness feels like it is lingering, underneath, and I worry I could be pulled under again at any moment. Despite all my best efforts I am failing to distinguish any silver lining, which is scary in general but specifically terrifying as it is a void of a huge part of my identity. It’s like not knowing who I am anymore.” </p><p> </p><p>Matt remains quiet for a moment, and Sylvie looks everywhere but his direction.   </p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” he says placing his strong hand to cover hers on her thigh. He only continues when she finally meets his sincere cobalt eyes. “Even now as broken as you may feel your still strong. One of the strongest women I have the pleasure of knowing. There is something to be said about the way you hold yourself and keep on moving even if you are shattered. It doesn’t always have to be pretty or graceful as long as you don’t stop and keep working at healing. You keep pulling yourself together, even if it requires a little help, then you go back to being the radiant individual you were meant to be. Even if every day, every morning, every minute you take a moment to just take a deep breath, push it back out and remember who the fuck you are. Because you  Sylvie Brett, are without a doubt amazing even when you feel like your struggling to find your hope” he says with certainty in his voice.</p><p> </p><p>Sylvie felt herself inhale deeply as she registered the formation of an additional minuscule glow again somewhere among the shadow. </p><p> </p><p>“How do you do that? She asks with real awe.</p><p> </p><p>“Do what?” he questions like he has just commented on the weather rather than the impressive pep talk. </p><p> </p><p>“Make it, my messed up life, seem somewhat livable from one moment to the next when really nothing has changed?” she adds.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s nothing,” he says dismissively. “Maybe an unfortunate skill I picked up from my Alderman days”. Sylvie feels herself frown at the manner in which he is middling and nearing apologetic. </p><p> </p><p>“No Matt it’s you,” she says with a firmness in her voice. “You make everything better, if people were more like you then everything would just be better.” She prays that the look of her face is resonating to him the resolve of her words. </p><p> </p><p>They pause in a comfortable silence for a minute.</p><p> </p><p>She then clears her throat and idly plays with her watch band, eyes now down cast to her feet. She needs to address that other piece. “I also wanted to talk to you about that other thing, when we kissed” she says it in a hushed tone, so anyone approaching could not hear. She registers the nervousness in her own voice. </p><p> </p><p>Unfortunately, or fortunately the alarm bells then ring out.</p><p> </p><p>“I guess later” she mutters. </p><p> </p><p>Matt seems to be gazing at her with penetrating curiosity, perhaps opening his mouth to provide an additional question or comment but instead he gives her shoulder a quick squeeze as a final offering of sustenance. Then they both immediately set to what seems to be the simpler part of life, the work.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. I Need to Apologize</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey all, don't let the title of this chapter scare you, I know there were lots of comments not wanting Brett to apologize. I pray you like the result in the end. Let me know in the comments section.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The remaining part of that shift, which had started with Sylvie’s patient turning ambo into the “bile mobile” as it became referred to that day, was in a word exhausting. Matt was not superstitious, but in his years at 51 he had to acknowledge that unfortunate first calls like those did seem to set a tone for the formation of the day. Ambo was not the only team overworked, truck and squad had been deployed with equal regularity. Within 24 hours, 51 had serviced a couple kitchen fires, an elevator evac, an accident involving a city bus against a hydro pole and lastly a child trapped in a storm drain. The statement, 'when it rains it pours' was gravely inadequate, it might have well been labelled a hurricane. All crew members had left the house with a dazing fatigue in their bodies and on their faces. Matt had finally been able to escape hours after the next shift had arrived, due to the requirement of paperwork. Finally arriving home, he landed head-first unceremoniously into his bed and blacked out for 13 hours of his 48. The rest of his time off, had to be adulty dedicated to his obligations as a reputable contractor and dutiful brother and uncle. So, 48 hours blew away from him like dry leaves in brisk fall wind, and he found himself again walking through the hallway towards the locker room. </p><p> </p><p>On his walk through the firehouse he quickly realized the mounting warmness accumulating inward, aware that he would shortly be in the presence of one blonde and beautiful paramedic. Since their discussion on the Ambo bumper, contact and connection with her had been far too sparse for his taste. He had unfortunately even missed their typically pleasurable farewell at the conclusion of last of shift. Leaving a weird absence to his time off. A few text messages were of course exchanged between them, a simple check in but he really had a strong distaste for this method of communication for topics of relevance. And everything with regards to Sylvie was of relevance.<br/>
He felt his awareness heighten, as eyes and ears immediately began executing their search to determine if she had yet arrived. </p><p> </p><p>Disappointingly, it was not her voice that he overheard rounding the corner into the co-ed locker room.</p><p> </p><p>“They set a date, Foster this is huge!” Kidds’ voice rings out, because she really has no lower range when it comes to her volume level.<br/>
“I know, I’m flabbergasted that Northwestern contacted me so quickly. They want me to panel with the department head and dean of medical in two weeks. Just long enough to methodically shit some bricks.” Foster responds.  </p><p> </p><p>“Nah, your going to be amazing, a kick ass doctor” Kidd states like its fact, just as Matt rounds the corner to his locker.<br/>


“Med school?” he quires into the conversation.</p><p> </p><p>Stella of course answers for her happily, as she swings an arm around Fosters neck with affection, “Yup our little bird here is getting set to spread her wings.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not a done deal, it’s just a panel to see if I am accepted” Foster says. “I’ve considered it before and withdrew, I will have to do a fair amount of convincing to get a second chance.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well Foster they would in my opinion be scholarly idiots not to accept you” he says nodding with determination. “However, once you are accepted it’s going to be a sad day for 51, you will be gravely missed by all, I’m sure especially by your partner.”</p><p> </p><p>Stella and Emily share a swift and uneasy glance at one another, and Stella seems to dismiss herself with an added haste. Foster immediately watches the floor like the configuration of the tiles is of interest, very unusual behavior for the normally assured woman. Matt feels his eyes narrow at her irregular mannerism. NOOOOOOOO, he prays inwardly that his quick assessment is incorrect.</p><p> </p><p>“Foster, please confirm for me that you have told Brett?” he asks through gritted teeth. She doesn’t respond audibly but the look passing across her face confirms his suspicion. </p><p> </p><p>He opens his mouth to chastise her with a healthy vigor, but he is stopped by the familiar voice asking behind him “Tell me what?”<br/>

He momentarily presses his eyes closed, reopening as he hears Foster say, “er just that shift 3 left Ambo in a disastrous mess yet again, I’m going to get a preemptive strike on the clean-up and restocking”. </p><p> </p><p>‘Fuck Foster’ are the choice words ringing out in his head. He wishes that the glare he is currently issuing could literally freeze her Foster in her tracks. He feels his jaw tighten and mouth press into a firm line to swallow down anything that really isn’t his to share but should have already been discussed.</p><p> </p><p>He turns his form, after Foster’s weak excuse and partially cowardly exit, to face Sylvie.   </p><p> </p><p>She is already dressed in her 51 gear, blonde hair pulled back from her face in a typical knot, light makeup highlighting the blue of her eyes, but she is frowning with thought. “That’s the third shift in a row that Ambo has been in shambles after shift 3” she comments. “I tried speaking to PIC Harris about it last shift but he kinda scoffed at me, do you think I should speak to Chief Boden?”</p><p> </p><p>Well at least Foster’s excuse was apparently not an outright lie. He mentally lowers the tone of the reprimand had planned on issuing Foster a single notch, that is all she was getting. He would deal with locating her to do just that after this tricky conversation was completed.<br/>


He forces himself into Captain mode because she is obviously asking for his officer’s opinion. He comments, “Maybe check out the damage yourself before Foster gets to far in the clean-up, if there is no improvement at all speak to the Chief. At the very least he might a recommendation on how to work at it with Harris.”</p><p> </p><p>“I like it,” she says, “You’re always so fair and thoughtful with this stuff.”</p><p> </p><p>He is often uncomfortable with praise, especially when it comes to work because he reasons he is just fulfilling the requirements of his job. He is typically deliberate in the execution of his rebuttals. But he will admit that her compliments, he often silently tucks away in a secluded and private part of his brain. It’s a worthy place for the precious treasures he believes her words to be.</p><p> </p><p>“No problem,” is his response with a goofy smile “I’ll let you finish getting ready and deal with that then.”</p><p> </p><p>He should now leave, since that is what his words have implied, but he stupidly stands there. Before he his brain catches stride with his mouth, he hears himself say, “Hey I missed you this weekend, I know shift just started but do you have any plans for breakfast upon its conclusion? Want to grab something together?”</p><p> </p><p>“That sounds really nice” she seems to accept his invitation with ease.</p><p> </p><p>“Perfect, I’m buying,” he says with a hidden excitement “the tallest stack of chocolate chip pancakes in Chicago has your name on it Sylvie Brett.” </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t forget the whipping cream” she adds with absolute sincerity.</p><p> </p><p>“Copy that” he responds with equal seriousness. He smiles and finally leaves her to begin their shift. </p><p> </p><p>XXX</p><p> </p><p>“Foster, a word, in my quarters please.” He issues this request at the door of the common room, with his most direct and authoritative voice. He sees all eyes shift to Foster with curiosity at her position by the coffee maker, coffee mid pour as she mumbles nervously “right away Captain”.</p><p> </p><p>‘Good’ he thinks, she deserves to squirm just a little. That’s for Sylvie, he reasons. </p><p> </p><p>Once Foster gets into his office, he closes the door in complete silence and sits his butt on the edge of his desk. His arms immediately cross in front of his chest and gives her a leveled look which he knows communicates, ‘explain yourself’.</p><p> </p><p>Foster seems to get the unspoken command, “I know, I know” she says, “Don’t suppose you can you just call me a cowardly lion or a head hiding Ostridge and let me get back to shift?” </p><p> </p><p>“No” he says plainly.</p><p> </p><p>“Didn’t think so, but can’t blame a girl for trying” she says quietly.</p><p> </p><p>“Foster” he says, his impatience seeping slightly into the manner in which he separates the syllables of her name.</p><p> </p><p>He observes her let out a long huff of breath, reasoning that she is finally settling into some level of seriousness. “You’re right I haven’t told Sylvie. It wasn’t intentional really, at least not a first. I didn’t tell anyone I was applying as it was an extreme long shot given my historical choices. I figured when it was rejected no one would know so I wouldn’t have to endure a pity festival by the house.”</p><p> </p><p> “When did you find out about the panel?” Matt asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Err, they told me 3 weeks ago that I would be contacted with a date?” she makes it sound like a question even though it is an answer.</p><p> </p><p>“Shit Foster!” he is exasperated now. “And you told Stella before speaking to Sylvie?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, no, no,” she rushes out, “I didn’t tell Stella, she overhead my conversation with the admission advisor when they called to inform me of the panel.” It maybe true but still a lame excuse in Matt’s view. </p><p> </p><p>“Okay, but a conversation with Sylvie should have occurred immediately after. I mean I love Kidd, but she has a mouth on her like a parrot at times, you lucky entire of 51 doesn’t know. Sylvie deserves to hear this from you” his voice is earnest.  </p><p> </p><p>“Again Captain, I know!” he can hear her frustration this time. “She had been through the ringer the last months, so much to deal with, I kept putting it off convincing myself it was not a good time.” </p><p> </p><p>Shit, he shifts uncomfortably on the desk, that sounds vaguely familiar in terms of defenses. He wants to reiterate Severide’s words about there never being a good or perfect time but wisely chokes them down. If Sev ever heard that he was forwarding on his words of advise on to another… Shit, Squad would have to start toting around a wheelbarrow to aid in transportation of his inflamed ego. </p><p> </p><p>“Emily” he opts for a softer approach. “I agree her year has been the shits, but you need to let her know. She has had multiple partners since her time at 51 and unfortunately few of them have chosen to include her to any in their decision making surrounding their departure. Hell, some of them have left without even saying goodbye at all. It hurt, wounded her. At the very least you need to give her time to process, anticipate the grief and loss and work through it before another butt is assigned that seat next to her.”</p><p> </p><p>“Your right, I just hate thinking that I’m going to be added to her list of partners or people that flaked out and left her,” she says with remorse.</p><p> </p><p>“Untrue statement, you’re not flaking out. You’re reaching out for your dreams. Sylvie will be torn up at first, but in the end she will be happy for you, probably even your biggest cheerleader. That is just type of person she is.” He observes Foster nod and feels certain that she will do the right thing, but just to be wise he adds.</p><p> </p><p>“Talk to her Foster, do it ASAP. Book a girl day or date, whatever woman call them, away from 51. That will at least ensure you don’t weaken under the guise of distractions or imperfect timing, Lord knows that that occurs often enough on shift. Just speak the truth to your friend. I have heard it is supposed to have a freeing effect.” He finishes by actually issuing her an encouraging smile with her words.<br/>
“Copy all of that Captain” Foster responds, returning a smile. Then he watches slightly petrified as her smile transforms into a devilish smirk.</p><p> </p><p>“You know Captain, leaders really expected to lead by example,” she says it with sly in her voice. He already doesn’t like the trajectory the conversation is now taking. She continues “just saying all this discussion and advice regarding honesty with Brett is really great, perhaps if I saw or heard about it in action myself…”</p><p> </p><p>“Dismissed” is his only methodology for swerving from that particular challenge. Fuck, he needs to locate a mirror make sure Kelly has not scribble ‘crushing on Sylvie Brett’ across his forehead. How the hell did Foster know?</p><p> </p><p>Foster finally leaves in quarters in an all out rolling laugh.</p><p> </p><p>XXX</p><p> </p><p>Shift goes quietly and smoothly, to the point that Matt has put an impressive dent in the paperwork that had been flagged on his desk. He even managed an inspection of the staff’s turnout gear, writing up an order for those items which had finally expired from exposure to open flame. Shift 1 was starting to trickle into the house signally that 8 am was on rapid approach.</p><p> </p><p>He began to feel a pleasant anticipation bubbling in his chest, reminded of his plans for breakfast with Sylvie. He catches up with her as members from their shift trickle out of the apparatus bay.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, where did you want to grab breakfast?” he asks catching her stride to be shoulder to shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>When she doesn’t answer him immediately, he adds, “You’re not bailing on me? Leaving me to eat pancakes and whipping cream all by myself? You can’t do that to my waistline.” He tries to put an edge of pleading and agony into the last statement.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry Matt, I just don’t feel like I would be great company all of sudden and the idea of conversing in a noisy diner is not as appealing now as it was 24 hours ago,” she comments.</p><p> </p><p>“Sylvie you are always enjoyable company.” He says with confidence. “But if the diner is the obstacle, how about accepting a counter-offer? Pancakes, completely homemade at your place? I’ll cook them myself.”</p><p> </p><p>She pauses mid step, “You don’t have to offer that Matt, we could just rain check?”</p><p> </p><p>He turns to have them face each other fully, “Sylvie, I would really like to spend time with you this morning. There are no requirements on your part to entertain, to present with anything other than what you are currently feeling. We can talk or not talk about those feelings, completely your call. Or we can talk about the mundane; weather predictions, the latest health foods or even strategies for world peace. Fully your decision. In all of it, I just want to be in your presence, if you will have me.” He realizes he is slightly out of breath at the conclusion. It wasn’t any profession of undying adoration and attraction but it was as truthful as he could be, without fretting she might run the other direction. An internal voice shouts ‘see Foster, its easy’ while others chant in unison ‘right, that’s why your knees are knocking together’.  </p><p> </p><p>“World peace huh?” she asks with a the faintest of ticks to the corner of her mouth in her repetition of that part of his sentence.<br/>


He beams because he believes he now has her in agreement, so says. “I’ll meet you at your place in 30 minutes, need to run a quick errand.”</p><p> </p><p>She finally nods in agreement, and he darts away from her immediately before she can recant. </p><p>XXX</p><p> </p><p>Matt arrives promptly at Sylvie’s apartment within his 30 minute promise. Upon entering Sylvie’s kitchen he notes that she has already lined the necessary ingredients and utensils upon the counter.   </p><p> </p><p>“Looks like we have everything we need,” he says, “except…” he notes an immediate flash of confusion as her eyes dart among the items before them. He smirks passing her a small grocery bag from his pit stop before her apartment.  She opens it and peers in with idle curiosity. She actually smiles at seeing the contents. Upon seeing that smile, he feels the need brace himself with a hand on the counter because his knees actually weaken. That is the first real smile he has witnessed since the morning of Scott’s conversation. Damm if it doesn’t feel like the sun finally emerging after days of Chicago rain. </p><p> </p><p>She pulls the items from the sack, a bag of chocolate chips and can of whipped cream, and meets his eyes still in a gentle glow. “This was your errand?” she asks, the brightness seeping into her words.</p><p> </p><p>He is feeling damm good right this minute. Even mildly brazen, knowing that his actions were at the root of that modest moment of happiness. So, his only response to her question is to issue her a flirting wink. He catches her immediate and repetitious blinking afterwards as if she has to register his action. He turns his back to immediately sets to the mixing pancake batter.   </p><p> </p><p>After a few seconds he notes her take up movement behind him, dipping into the fridge, then setting a skillet on the stove. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey, I thought I was in charge of the meal?” he jokes.</p><p> </p><p>“Since you insist on cooking me pancakes, figured I would reciprocate by frying you up some bacon,” she responds.</p><p> </p><p>“Sounds like a fair deal, really what grown man can refuse an offer that includes bacon?”</p><p> </p><p>“None that I know” she responds lightly. Which causes him a hearty chuckle and launching into a story lighthearted story about his earlier days. The story involved at time when Casey was just a candidate, having to prepare meals and the torture he endured for his misguided purchase and preparation of turkey bacon. From there he shares other stories of his earlier fighter fighter days, which she listens too with ease.

</p><p> </p><p>It’s a comfortable feeling Matt experiences, in domesticated acts with Brett. They move around and between one another in an easy tempo rhythm. The only unkind part are his countless opportunities to brush past any part of her body due to their positions in the small kitchen. He itches to do so, can actually feel limbs and fingers twitching without control. He grips the spoon and the side of the metal bowl like they are chains to keep his hands behaved.   </p><p> </p><p>Eventually breakfast is fully prepared. With loaded plates they take positions across from each other at the kitchen table.<br/>


He watches with amusement as Sylvie shakes the can of whipped topping with vigor, tilting it upside down to expertly form what he equates to Mount Everest on top of her stacked pancakes. It is utterly adorable, childlike. She sets the can down triumphantly on the table and meets his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>Picking up her fork she points it directly at him like it’s a spear, with squinted eyes, “Don’t judge me” she states.</p><p> </p><p>Matt raises his hands in the air in like he is surrendering from a disagreement he was unaware they had entered. “Absolutely no judgement here, just noting your technique,” he retorts as he grabs the whip to create a similar but slightly more modest mountain on his plate.<br/>


She issues him another small smile, second one of the morning, he literally wants to fist pump the air. They eat in a comfortable silence, except for the tiny moan she makes shoving that first bite of pancake between her lips. The sound bounced around his head like a pin ball, echoing after each strike in the corner of his brain. He tells his thoughts to ‘shut up’ as they wonder what else he could do to make her hum like for him again.  </p><p> </p><p>Once breakfast has been abolished by both parties Sylvie begins with, “Matt, you eluded this morning that had complete control over our topic’s of conversation,” her voice had changed to a thoughtful nature.</p><p> </p><p>“Absolutely,” he responds matching the seriousness of her tone.</p><p> </p><p>“There is one thing that I feel like I need to speak to you about,” now she sounds nervous and a touch awkward. </p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t particularly like noting her in that way so aims to aid by suggesting, “Why don’t I refill our coffee cups and we meet on the couch?”<br/>


She nods, he snatches their mugs to refill them with warmed goodness. He meets her on the couch, setting the liquid filled cups on the coffee table. “Okay talk to me?” he says with earnest. </p><p> </p><p>“I need to apologize” she says quietly. “Asking you to kiss me, I put you in an incredibly unpleasant, awkward, no win situation. I mean really what were you supposed to do with that kind of request?” </p><p> </p><p>“It was a far reach from anything resembling unpleasant” he says with a twinkle in his voice. He thinks that he witnesses a rosiness emerge across her cheek bones. </p><p> </p><p>“And I can’t accept your apology” he says with firmness. She nods like she understands but he knows she doesn’t. So, he clarifies “Sylvie, I can’t accept your apology because firstly, apologizes are for mistakes. You are the most selfless individual I know, always thinking and doing for others without hesitation and often at your personal expense. I can probably count the instances on one hand, as how often you have made a request on your own behalf. You requested for me to kiss you because that was what you needed in that moment. It is not a mistake to ask for what you need. Attached to that, your methodology moving to healing or recovery may have been well unconventional, but it was effective. I don’t fully know the depths of that vacant place I found you in, but from my position it was terrifying. But that kiss seemed to offer a reminder or kick start real feelings, which were likely painful but healthier than where I found you.”    </p><p> </p><p>“Secondly, attached to an apology is an unspoken promise that the behavior or action which you are apologizing for won’t happen again. I don’t want that,” he murmurs gently.</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes widen to expanse of cup saucers, he thinks that she comprehends but wants to be profusely clear, “At some point Sylvie Brett, when you are ready and wanting, I am really hoping to kiss you again.” </p><p> </p><p>He sees shock in her features, she opens and closes her mouth repeatedly but words don’t form.</p><p> </p><p>Then suddenly she is spilling words like a dropped jar of marbles, her mind obviously moving rapidly because she jumps immediately too. “Matt, I can’t lose you, EVER, but especially not right now. Honestly, I have never been more terrified of losing anything in my life, probably because there are very few people that have come to mean as much to me as you do. I have a previous relationship track record of similar to Julie Roberts in Runaway Bride, and that was when I considered myself reasonably put together. Right now, I’m the pictorial definition of a fucking mess.” </p><p> </p><p>He folds both her hands between his own. Looking deep into her frantic eyes he says “Hey, you are not losing me, I promise. I plan on continuing to be in the life of Sylvie Brett in any way, shape or form that I am permitted until we are both old, grey and feebly minded. You are equally as important to me as you described. If you are comparing your relationship history to Runaway Bride, I could refer to mine as Armagendon. I get that we both could be pretty weary of any related to a romantic relationship.” </p><p> </p><p>He pauses to confirm that she is tracking his words, then continues with, “Sylvie, right this minute, today, I am not suggesting any significant change to our relationship. All I’m saying is I kissed you once and I want to keep open the possibility of it occurring again.”<br/>
“And if we do, kiss again, what happens after that?” She asks quietly. 


She hasn’t immediately shot him down, there may even be consideration in her words. A soft rolling boil of hope formulates inside his body. </p><p> </p><p>“Well that will mostly be up to you, because I’m pretty certain that if I get to kiss you again, I won’t want to stop.” It’s the most honest he has been aloud, as a result he hears his voice wobble slightly with his last sentence. He is out on a limb, his weight bending it to deep c-curve. He prays that the relationship that they have formed has the strength to hold it. </p><p> </p><p>He hears her let out a slow breath, perhaps he has reassured her enough to avert her mental frenzy. “So, are we good?” he asks tentatively.<br/>


Her stare remains locked to him, but he witnesses her nod in agreement. He squeezes her hands, hoping it is a level of reassurance that he too is ‘good’. </p><p> </p><p>“Thank you for spending the morning with me Sylvie Brett, the company, the conversation, the pancakes they were all memorable. I need to get moving, meeting a new client regarding a bathroom renovation across town…” he trails off.<br/>


She nods again, wordlessly.</p><p> </p><p>“… but I case you need me in the next 24 or so hours, I’ll keep my ringer on” he finishes with their private promise to each other. The words intentional, to show her that nothing has changed in their relationship, at least not yet. He is rewarded with a final smile. A second kiss or not ‘We’re okay’ his brain chants out in relief.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. “Yeah, you’re okay”</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>‘Med school, Foster is returning to med school’. Those words ring in throbbing repetition as she marches down the snow-white sidewalk of Chicago. Her boots crunching profoundly into crusted banks, the whoosh of vehicles moving contrasting directions, the growls of nearby construction dissipating to white noise due the brashest of her internal speech. </p><p> </p><p>Emily had recommended getting together for a late lunch at her beloved deep dish digs. Really, that should have tipped her off immediately to the dropping of a shoe. It was a rarity for Em to indulge with her in such cheesy and greasy goodness without additional motivation. </p><p> </p><p>Mid first bite, the cheese stringing like dental floss between her mouth and the triangle in her palms, Emily started with, “Hey girl, you know I love you right?”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course Em, I love you too. You’re like a sister to me.” She says in honesty.</p><p> </p><p>“And you know that thick or thin, easy or hard and good or a little evil, I will always be here for you,” she adds.</p><p> </p><p>Sylvie feels a twinge of tightness in her stomach, “Em, what… is… going… on?” her sentence is drawn out with each individualized word. She has now abandoned the slice upon her plate, concerned that it might not combine well in her stomach with whatever it is that Emily plans on sharing.</p><p> </p><p>“Look… it’s the epitome of a long shot, unlikely to materialize…”she trails off.</p><p> </p><p>“Foster, just tell me” she says noting impatience in her own voice.</p><p> </p><p> “I’ve reapplied for med school” she says in an abnormally quiet tone. </p><p> </p><p> Sylvie feels a breath exit her body like an accidentally released balloon mid inflation. The noisy flap at it is neck, escaping her lips and her head trying to track its location as it soars about the room. </p><p> </p><p>Emily continues, “I actually applied a few months ago, kept it to myself, a case of self-survival in the event I was outwardly rejected. But Northwestern called a couple weeks ago to set up a panel date, it’s in less than two weeks from today.” She pauses to pluck at an olive encased in cheese, then meeting Sylvie’s face again “I’m sorry Sylvie… I realize now I should have spoken to you before I even put my application in, you deserved that at the very least as my partner. I just… I didn’t want to add to the mountain of crap that you are already managing”.</p><p> </p><p>Sylvie sat there for a perceived eternity staring at her partner. She knew exactly what she should say, words intended to encourage, congratulate, acknowledge her drive to achieve her dreams. Because that is what a roommate, friend, partner, sister would provide in this circumstance. That is what Emily deserves in terms of reassurance. But for one of the first times in her life, where supporting someone she loved was warranted, she just didn’t have a scrap of that to offer. She denotes herself to be a horrible sister, and even worse person but “I need some air” are the only words she can utter, as she rises from her seat. </p><p> </p><p>“Sylvie, wait, please don’t be mad at me” Em says with a slim desperation in her voice.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not mad Em, promise,” it’s true there is not an iota of fury towards Foster. “I just need a breath, I’m going to walk home, we can talk about it further, later”. Foster nods in agreement, and Sylvie simply leaves.</p><p> </p><p>So now she is out in the trooping in the crisp Chicago air as words and thoughts move about her head like torment gusts blowing snow in variable directions during a whiteout. Her inner voices blow with ‘Foster has applied for med school. She will undoubtedly be accepted. Foster will leave. I’ll have no roommate, no partner. I’m losing another partner. I’m losing another person I love. Why does this keep happening? Is there something wrong with me that they all leave?’ </p><p> </p><p>Then the idea of Foster’s photo being added to stark hallway of loss in her previous hallucination conjures among her thoughts. She notes a supplementary, vaguely acquainted, and somewhat petrifying bite of cold envelope her body at that image.</p><p> </p><p>“No” she says aloud and with determination, “I can’t go to that blank place again.”  </p><p> </p><p>Perhaps intuitively she generates her phone between her hands and begins typing a text to Matt. She is skipping the basic and acceptable formality of a greeting to state the truth.</p><p> </p><p>‘Foster is returning to med school’ Sylvie pauses.</p><p> </p><p>She looks at the typed words as her finger hovers above the send button, wavering. She flexes and rotates her thumb a few times like a jittery stretch before a marathon. She knows Matt, the minute he reads these words he will make himself available to her, for soothing, for reassurance, for bolstering. She ponders if she is deserving of that at present, given that she was incapable to afford that to Em. </p><p> </p><p>She recognizes has been leaning on Matt wholly, and nearing daily, like one the struts Squad uses to brace a wall at a scene. She longed for that solidness in herself right now, because she had not been ‘this woman’ in years. Not since Harrison. The uncertainty, insecurity, disbelief were all present. Although there was a stark and pointed difference. Where Harrison and his actions had been the catalyst to these feelings in their relationship, Matt seemed to be… well definitely not a cause, perhaps a response, a solution? It felt excessive to place such obligation upon him, yet he had repeatedly articulated his readiness and even a yearning to be that man in her life. In complete authenticity she longed for it to be him, but was not fully ready unpack all the motives behind that wish.      </p><p> </p><p>She hits ‘send’. The anticipated the reply comes within a minute.  </p><p> </p><p>‘Where are you?’-Matt</p><p> </p><p>‘Out walking, nearing Heathorn Park’-Sylvie</p><p> </p><p>‘I’ll meet in the parking lot at Heathron in 10 min’-Matt</p><p> </p><p>She should argue or kindly refuse, tell him that his presence is unnecessary, but she doesn’t. She wants him to come. His words, his presence, his touch seem to hold a restoring function. Just like tiny amounts of brass cleaner applied delicately to small portions of an ugly surface, which he skillfully and unwearyingly polishes back to their previous lustier one tiny spot at a time. </p><p> </p><p>She reaches the parking lot entrance to witness Matt parking his truck in a nearby stall. He jumps out, obviously having been on a construction site as he is wearing beige steel toed boots, tatty paint splattered jeans, a blue plaided jacket and seasoned baseball cap turned backwards on his head. He meets her eyes across a few yards of empty stalls and starts towards her. She sees him pick up his pace to a light jog, the visual of him running to her, dislodges her breath and has her feet rooted to the asphalt.         </p><p> </p><p>He quickly reaches her personal space. Without words he seizes a hand limp at her side and gruffly yanks her to his chest. His one arm bands to her back ironing their bodies together, while the other now discharges her hand to tenderly take residence the rear of her head, compressing it against the location over his heart. It thuds in her ear with the consistently and depth she expects only from Matt Casey. </p><p> </p><p>His embrace is like the balminess of the sun peaking out on a clouded day. Like a cat she could laze in its rays for hours if permitted.  </p><p> </p><p>He smells like a glorious blend of manly sweat and sawdust. Sylvie blushingly nuzzles her face into it like small animal and gulps it up like diver preparing to be without oxygen. She allows her hands to travel to his back, not gripping this time but engaging in a stroking measure at the cozy flannel beneath her palms. Until she registers the taunt and firm muscles ripple beneath and she halts her hands, chastising the surge of heat that journeys though her palms and, up her arms. It was only yesterday that Matt had refused her apology about the requested kiss and offered a mild confession about a desire for additional lip locks. After the shock of his want had dispelled, she had all but begged him not to shift any part of their relationship in an outward fear that he too would eventually become absent from her life. Now was absolutely not the time for nuzzling and stroking, despite the slight trace of pleasure it may have afforded.    </p><p> </p><p>“Are you okay?” he murmurs near her ear. She nods into his chest despite the constriction of his hold. He then eases her back to scrutinize her face, as if seeking a visual confirmation. After an exhaustive exploration, a calm smile materializes on his face. “Yeah you’re okay,” he says, like he has in some fashion expertly deciphered every thought and feeling in her mind and body. She reasons his version of “okay” is likely confirmation that she has not returned to that ‘dead place’ she visited before, but she steps backwards because it’s a little unnerving to be read like a children’s book. She forms the words, “Okay, but really not great.” It’s a vague explanation but where feels comfortable starting aloud. </p><p> </p><p>“Well I’m glad she finally told you, so you can work towards the being great again” Matt says heartfelt. </p><p> </p><p>Sylvie registers the conclusion of his words with a little hurt, and asks “You knew? Before me?”</p><p> </p><p>Stricken guilt covers his face like a grey cloud, and he fully releases her to rub the back of his neck aggressively like an anxious tick. He utters, “I accidentally learned about it last shift. Along with the knowledge that you were yet to be informed. I promise you I gave Foster a gross dressing down for that piece. Please understand Sylvie, that I didn’t tell you directly because it wasn’t my information to share with you.” </p><p> </p><p>The hurt dissolves instantly like drops of water hitting hot pavement, to fizzle out an insignificant puff of steam. Matt wasn’t keeping secrets from her, but he also wasn’t engaging gossip. He had worked to do what he believed to be right for both parties involved. He had devotion and faith in Foster to, with appropriately applied encouragement, share the news on her own. And the “gross dressing down” he described, was likely a lean to Sylvie’s benefit, a small demonstration of his defending and protecting tendencies.    </p><p> </p><p>To ease his guilt she says, “It’s okay Matt, I understand your reservations in spilling the beans yourself. It just demonstrates once again your trust in and loyalty to others, it’s admirable,” She questions herself again as to why she failed to offer the same assurances to Foster’s obvious remorse earlier today. Perhaps her few words and speedy departure had been a silent form of self-preservation in that moment. Acknowledging Foster’s feelings in length and depth was certain to jolt forth her own, or worse, bring back the numbness she desperately wanted to avoid.     </p><p> </p><p>Matt interrupts her thought detour to say, “Yeah well, unfortunately that trust and loyalty has kept me repeatedly in circumstances that common sense should have removed me from. It doesn’t always work to my benefit” he says with a grim face.</p><p> </p><p>She knows the reference he is making is to his relationship with Gabby. She is angry with herself, faltering to recall that among her needs that he too, has had his share of grief and loss.   </p><p> </p><p>“Well, in this case it is both comprehended and appreciated” she adds.</p><p> </p><p>He presents with a brief flash of shock to his features, like he had not been expecting her level of understanding and acceptance. “Okay then…” he says seemingly relaxing into his words, “So I’m here, if you want to talk about the conversation with Foster”.</p><p> </p><p>She does, she wants to share it with him, only him.   </p><p> </p><p>“Let’s walk it out” he says clasping at her hand once again and tugging towards a nearby path. </p><p> </p><p>She relays the conversation and events of her lunch with Foster. She discusses the immediate feelings of grief and loss which are expected. But she also explains the mortification and shame in her lack of an appropriate response and the worries it is a further representation of her loss of her character.  </p><p> </p><p>Matt listens without interruption, except for the occasion squeeze of his hand to her, that had remained clasped together during their stroll. This occurs during moments that words get clogged in her throat or a dribble of tears slip from her eyes. </p><p> </p><p>Finally, she gets around to a question that has been plaguing her since she stepped away from the pizza parlour. “Matt, I have to ask, I need a truthful answer. Is it me? Am I the reason people always leave?” </p><p> </p><p>It’s a grim question to utter as she qualms about coming off as engrossing in self-pity or donating herself to victim status. </p><p> </p><p>Matt’s responding scoff tells her just how ludicrous he believes that question to be. He follows it up with words stating, “that is ridiculous!” Her question had reeked of vulnerability so she should feel foolish that his automatic and unthinking reaction screamed that her question too idiotic to voice aloud. Instead his response was so genuine he managed to stomp flat the doubt and insecurity like a heard of storming elephants across the savanna. </p><p> </p><p>She surprisingly feels the corner of her mouth tick up to fractional smile. He is correct of course, but the intensity at which he conveys and publicizes this is to her is in a word, marvelous. </p><p> </p><p>“Thank you” she says stopping their trek to face him. “I needed that reminder of just how dim-witted that sounded.”</p><p> </p><p>His eyes expand to the radius of saucers, and he stutters with, “No Sylvie, I didn’t mean…”</p><p> </p><p>She interrupts immediately, “Matt, I got exactly what you meant, and it is truly what I needed.” </p><p> </p><p>She continues not forming thoughts internally but speaking them aloud.  “It’s not me… My partners have left Ambo because they want more for themselves. I always wanted to be a paramedic, without question or reservation. I’m probably lucky in that regard, to recognize and be able to chase and achieve that so quickly. And luckier that years in it’s still what I want to do, what I love to do. But the vast majority of my partners on Ambo have aspired for other careers, to be firefighter, a squad member, now a doctor and being paramedic had really been a foothold to reach their end goal. This is true for Emily. Given all she has accomplished on Ambo, I have no doubt she is going to be a kick ass doctor. It’s another person exiting my life, another loss I will have to endure…” tears threaten to spill yet again. She finishes “but I can’t and won’t keep her from the lives she is going to save in that role, or the overall joy she will experience doing a job she loves.” Ending she is surprised at the strength and resolution in her own words. </p><p> </p><p>Matt responds to her external monologue with a broad and bright Casey smile, and his eyes seem to twinkle with a silent glee.</p><p> </p><p>“What?” she asks with confusion about his present state.</p><p> </p><p>“Just appreciating the gradual re-emergence of the Sylvie Brett,” he says like he is observing a sunrise after a long dark night.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah well, gradual being the key word in that statement, it feels like it’s taking forever,” suddenly a trickle of frustration is registered. She wishes that her hopefulness and feel good moments wouldn’t feel so sparse in occurrence. </p><p> </p><p>“It takes as long as necessary,” Matt says in affirmation, promise in his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“I pray that Foster is as understanding. I wasn’t able to say all that when it was required or deserved” she responds.   </p><p> </p><p>“You will, now” Matt declares.</p><p> </p><p>She marvels at the simplicity Matt seems to apply to the situation, on her life, when truly it feels like she has been navigating a complex map of emotional mountains and valleys.  </p><p> </p><p>She glances across the park at a couple children playing together with joy. Jolly smiles, and brilliant amusement ease across the children’s faces as they chase each other down with balls of snow. She spouts spontaneously with a wistful voice, “Sometimes it would be nice to be a kid again, their lives so lighthearted.”</p><p> </p><p>Matt nods also looking in the direction of the children’s activities. He turns back to her a sinning smile forming his lips, like he has just conjured a delectable desert. </p><p> </p><p>“Come with me” he states, snatching her hand he pulls her off the cleared path into an untouched snowy field. </p><p> </p><p>After a short trek he states, “this looks to be a good spot” surveilling the ground around their bodies. </p><p> </p><p>“A good spot for what?” she asks in total confusion.</p><p> </p><p>“A carefree child-like activity… snow angels” he responds, like she should have known the answer.</p><p> </p><p>He plops his butt down in the half a foot of cold, white and likely to be wet powder. “Get down here” he commands in his firm Captains’ voice, but it’s a flickering challenge upon his face. </p><p> </p><p>She follows the fictitious order, easing her ass into the snow and then laying backwards, eyes up to the vastness of the grey winter sky. She takes up movement of her arms and legs spreading wide like a starfish then returning tight against her form in slow repetition. The snow is bitter under her clothing but the warmth from her movement wills her to continue. As does the recollection the exercise generates, a time in childhood where hurt was a scraped knee and loss was the breaking of a favorite toy. Both of which could be rectified swiftly and wholly with a perfectly timed hug or a fluffy joke.     </p><p> </p><p>“How’s it going over there?” he asks turning his head her direction but continuing his own movements. His face is an all boy grin, which gives her a slight vision of what he might have been like as an untroubled child. Although she knows just enough of Casey’s childhood to wager that those instants were likely few, the current overall effect is breath steeling.</p><p> </p><p>“Colder than I remember,” she says with a run-away giggle. It surprises her, the formation of a natural laugh, as in the last months she had too convincingly generate such an standard response in such situations. It’s sound reverberated in her head wholly and agreeably. Her stomach and chest stretched rigidly at its rhythm but quickly recalled the sensation like the muscle memory of a long distance runner.      </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah” he laughs too, its deep and throaty. “That’s probably sufficient,” he adds like they are engrossed in a training drill. He then jumps upwards effortlessly, as she struggles to even a sitting position like in a pile of marshmallows. He offers a hand, which she accepts in necessity, then plucks her from the bank like snatching a Klennex from a tissue box. </p><p> </p><p>They both turn to view their efforts. Two outlines of angels are beautifully embossed in the white sheet upon the ground. Their inside arms close enough to be converging to one another. She allows herself to wonder at the sight, if it is representative of their current state or perhaps a type of future union.<br/>
“We should take a picture,” Matt declares, as he pats down his body likely in examination for his phone. </p><p> </p><p>She constricts her eyes at him stating “You hate your picture being taken.” It a renowned fact at Station 51 by all staff, Matt avoids the camera like germophobe in a hover pattern above a toilet seat.  Especially if the photo is to be taken with a cell phone. It matches his general aversion to what he believes to be unnecessary technological advances. </p><p> </p><p>He finds the phone in a jean pocket. “The picture’s not of me, its of them” he says jutting his chin towards the snow imprinted figures. He frowns slightly, likely grappling the camera function, but it dissipates in quick order, he holds it up and she hears several artificial clicks of the shutter. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ll send it to you” he says, “a reminder of our carefree moment.” She is uncomfortable at the way her ears appear to enunciate and treasure the word ‘our’ in his sentence.  </p><p> </p><p>Silence swings between them until he finally breaks, “Hey, let’s get out of here, my ass is freezing. I’ll drive you home, buy you a hot chocolate on the way.”<br/>


She beams at him, “Snow angels and hot chocolate, you are entirely too good to me Matt Casey.”</p><p> </p><p>Without missing a beat Matt responds, “Well you are entirely deserving of it Sylvie Brett.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Episodes of Happiness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry Folks for the delay in this chapter. Two reasons, firstly life is busy in September makes it hard to fit in writing. Second this chapter was a personal challenge to get right. In its second half, Sylvie attempts to explain her experience with her depression. Having experienced it myself and known others I had this huge need to try to articulate something that is really individualized yet holds common threads for most. To describe something hard to explain because most of it is not visible on outside. To articulate feelings that are interwoven and complex. So its all in here, I hope I did it justice. Please let me know with your comments.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A third of the duration of next shift Matt finds himself at his typical post, while at the firehouse, pouring over paperwork. Before accepting the title of Captain, he really had no idea about level to which bureaucracy etched into life of being an officer. As ugly as this revolving pile of documents is, waiting impatiently to be completed in double and triplicate, he concedes that should not complain. It’s just grains of sand uncomfortable in his shoe compared to paper load of a Chief. He surmises he has never actually seen the flat surface of the Boden’s desk in all his years stationed at 51. </p><p> </p><p>After scribbling the last line on yet another incident report he shoves it in the folder with a mild satisfaction reasoning he deserves a mental break. He leans back in his chair, to stare at the section of wall between his bookshelf and desk. He frees himself from thinking of written descriptions of the fought fires and lives that he could or could not save. </p><p> </p><p>Of course, the first destination his brain takes is towards Sylvie. It really has become an auto pilot function, like another part of his mind has control over the steering wheel and gas pedal. Despite a firm grip on the wheel or the pumping of brakes he is helpless but to ride along at the direction or speed of his emerging thoughts. <br/>He recalls their last interaction, well other than the professional conversations while on shift, at Hawthron park. Sylvie had reached out to him after Emily’s disclosure about med school. He shouldn’t be so prideful that she called him, but even now days later, he can feel a satisfaction rise from his stomach to his chest, making it puff forward like a robin showing off his colors. Sylvie is a woman of strength, who can handle herself even when she maybe uncertain of it at present, but it feels really fucking good to be needed and required. He has always been drawn to independent women, savoring the potency of their power and confidence. But that independence also seems to have those women rooted in the belief that relying on him was either feeble or unnecessary. That was Gabby, becoming hostile towards his desire to be supportive or involved in her struggles. He reasoned that Sylvie may not fully enjoy accepting help or at times may experience a pointless guilt she is leaning into him but she certainly doesn’t fight it.</p><p> </p><p>The additional comparison he finds himself making is Sylvie’s reaction to learning he had previously become aware of Foster’s decision. An incorrect illusion that he had been keeping a secret or excluding her. It was fucked, he had automatically geared up for defending himself regarding his actions, an involuntary reaction to years of misunderstanding and inability to communicate with Gabby. But Sylvie had heard his explanation and even commented that it was ‘comprehended and appreciated.’ It was weird, shocking, and probably could be labelled as mature and healthy in terms of a romantic relationship. Except he wasn’t in a romantic relationship with Sylvie, at least not yet. </p><p> </p><p>He feels that longing jerking interiorly again. It causes him to extricate his phone to unlock its mini gallery. He swooshes unhurriedly through the photos of their forms embedded in the snow during their attempt at snow angels. He can’t fathom that this was his idea, but he gets this boyish off-balance sensation in her presence that has him not acting his age. He finds the last photo, one he had covertly snapped of Sylvie is gazing at their efforts. It’s a profile, her body turned towards the bank, not the camera, but he can see delight in her facial expression. Her charming mouth turned upwards, a glimmer of affection in her gentle blue eyes. He recalls that while they were lazing in that frigid cold a sincere laugh had been caught from Sylvie mouth. The remembrance of that sound, a bouncy melody, still echoes between his ears, reheating his body and causing him to goofily beam at the photo in his hands. His suggestion, childish as it was, had elicited that from her. He swears he will continue to make a fool of himself in any situation with Sylvie if that was the ended product.  </p><p> </p><p>As if pinning over her, yet again, has enchanted capabilities, Sylvie unexpectedly materializes in his doorway. He overturns his phone in haste to lay face down on his desk. ‘Did she catch him ogling her picture?’ He senses a tint of mortification colors his cheeks.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey” she says.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, what’s up?” he asks, hoping his ignorance of being caught, hands fully in the cookie jar, will insight her to overlook the same.</p><p> </p><p>“Argh” she adds with an agonizing tone. “Can I complain?”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course,” he smiles genuinely. “What’s this about?”</p><p> </p><p>“PIC Harris” she supplies.</p><p> </p><p>Matt feels himself frown, “Still having difficulty with the state of the Ambo?” he inquiries. Really, she doesn’t need to be dealing with this crap on top of all her personal shit. He feels that protective impulse to manage it himself, but wisely senses he should listen before flying in.</p><p> </p><p>“The state of the ambo has improved, but PIC Harris is just being kinda an ass about it now. He keeps leaving these notes in the Ambo log about minuscule cleaning and supply issues now. Like he was the one to make the initial statement about clean-up. If I’m being honest it’s getting on my last nerve in terms of general annoyance.” she huffs out. </p><p> </p><p>Matt doesn’t say anything just nods in concurrence. She doesn’t want him to solve a problem, swoop in and fix this, she just needs to blow off steam. He is further assured by this in her next statement.</p><p> </p><p>“I know it’s likely just his bruised ego, it will blow over if I ignore it,” her voice now very reasonable.</p><p> </p><p>“Sounds like it” he affirms to her.</p><p> </p><p>She stares at him for a moment, a petite smile mounting to her lips. </p><p> </p><p>“You know Matt, I really enjoy complaining to you,” she says with seriousness.</p><p> </p><p>“Is that so?” a question underlying his statement. </p><p> </p><p>“Yes, because I firmly believe that if I were to say something like ‘Nooo they don’t have my favorite chips’ you would probably say…”</p><p> </p><p>“Those bastards” Matt finds himself filling in the blank on cue.</p><p> </p><p>“Exactly, which is really the perfect response to that situation” Sylvie responds with an open beam.</p><p> </p><p>They both laugh tenderly, then there is a quiet relaxed appreciation which is tossed back and forth between them.</p><p> </p><p>“What are you doing tomorrow?” she asks casually.</p><p> </p><p>“Kitchen remodel” he responds.</p><p> </p><p>“Ohhh” she says with a slight wistfulness in her voice, “Is that what you were pouring over on your phone? If so, you must be pleased with the result, you were practically glowing.”</p><p> </p><p>Well that answers his question about if she caught him gawking at her photo, his only embarrassment stays internal. “Men don’t glow” he claims playfully. </p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t rebuttal, just shrugs a slender shoulder, so he continues… “I don’t have any photos of the remodel yet, it’s still in the early-stages. Need to refinish the cabinet doors of the kitchen and apply the tiled backsplash tomorrow.”</p><p> </p><p>“You want some help?” Sylvie offers.</p><p> </p><p>Matt’s can’t contain a measured grin encroaching upon his face “You offering your services or someone else’s?” he quips. He knows he won’t turn down an opportunity to spend time with her if that is indeed her offer.</p><p> </p><p>“Mine” she with a slight pride in her voice. “I don’t have any experience with tile but I’ve refurbished many a cabinet door. Is it factory finish you are removing?”<br/>He blinks at her apparent knowledge base to have posed such a question, nodding at her in affirmation.</p><p> </p><p>“So just a light sanding to remove the stain…” she trails off like she is reviewing the steps in her head, then she continues“… new stain or paint and updated hardware. I can probably assist with that.”</p><p> </p><p>Damm he’s impressed. And if he is being honest a little turned on to hear her speak about remodeling with such proficiency. </p><p> </p><p>“Well I will accept the help, only if you let me treat you to lunch as payment. Got keep my employees well feed and hydrated when on the site.” He reasons aloud.</p><p> </p><p>“Happy to be working for such a reasonable employer,” she responds trying to be serious but he can see the corner of her mouth itching to climb to up her cheek. </p><p> </p><p>“You might change opinion on that when I tell you I will be picking you up tomorrow at 8:30 to head to the job site” mocking her serious tone. </p><p> </p><p>“No problem” she says moving to exit his quarters, “I’ll be ready and waiting boss,” she tosses back at him over the shoulder. Well this remodel just got exceedingly more pleasant, he muses…</p><p> </p><p>XXX</p><p> </p><p>Matt arrives outside Sylvie apartment promptly at 8:30 am, to find her standing on the door-step bouncing on her feet in the nippy morning air. </p><p> </p><p>She bounds into the truck immediately, obviously trying to scamper from the cold. </p><p> </p><p>“You could have waited inside,” he comments, as she puts her hands to the heated air flow. </p><p> </p><p>“And be late clocking in with my new employer?” she questions like she is appalled at his lacking work ethic.  </p><p> </p><p>He relishes that she seems to have chosen to resume their humorous banter from yesterday. It’s yet another indication to him that Sylvie is making strides to her former glory. </p><p> </p><p>“Well your dedication to the job is clearly noted” he responds desiring to play along. “Perhaps there is an increase in pay in your near future.”</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes actually embrace a hint of twinkle, “Does that mean that lunch will include desert?” she asks.</p><p> </p><p>Given that he has agreed to ‘pay her’ with a meal, he knows she means actual desert; cookies, cake, pie, some sort of square. But for a fleeting flash his brain becomes hijacked by other chemicals and body parts. The same words, in her melodic voice roll around in his head with a sensual innuendo, in which ‘desert’ becomes another taste and successive devouring of her pretty little mouth. ‘Don’t go there Casey’, he warns himself, she has not made any reference of fancying an additional kiss.</p><p> </p><p>“We will see,” is the only response he trusts himself to complete.  </p><p> </p><p>XXX</p><p> </p><p>Arriving at the reno site, Matt lets them into the home with keys provided by the owner. The couple hasn’t moved in yet, they are waiting on him to complete the project. He prefers situations like this as it permits him to leave supplies and tools on site rather than extra effort of packing at the end of each day. </p><p> </p><p>They amble into the kitchen, Sylvie shrugs off her pink puffer jacket. She is wearing a plaid shirt over a tight tank top which stretches against her perfect curves and the fabric of worn jeans plasters her hips. She immediately sets to examining the cupboard doors that will have to be removed prior to being sanded and painted. She pulls open one of the lower doors to squat and examine the hinges. As those jeans pull over her ass his eyes become padlocked on her rear. The position of each jean pocket is like they are perfectly palming each rounded butt cheek. His mouth becomes slightly dry as he considers what it might be like to palm that flesh himself.<br/>“They look easy enough to remove, if you’ve got a Phillips head I can get started?” she offers.</p><p> </p><p>The dry feeling in his mouth, morphs to a heated wet feeling in his stomach. ‘FUUCCKKKK’, why is her knowledge of construction and tools so hot. ‘It shouldn’t be that hot’, he argues to the growing response of his body. ‘Get control of yourself Casey’ he chastises himself for a second time in less than 45 minutes, ‘before your thoughts have your body parts acting of their own accord.’ </p><p> </p><p>He digs a Phillips from his tool-box and hands it her way. Needing to advert his eyes and his body from the current view he murmurs about setting up saw-horses in the open living-room. It will become a location to prep the doors once they are removed.</p><p> </p><p>He busies himself with this task, as she removes the doors, occasionally bringing them to be laid out on his now make-shift tables. He moves onto setting up his tile saw, to begin on the backsplash. The actions, routine for him, seem to still his inappropriate and heated thoughts. They continue their individual tasks for a few hours, until Matt infers that it might be a good time for him to slip out to grab their lunch. He checks in that she will be okay in his absence, she nods distractedly engrossed in her task of sanding, so he is off to steal grub. </p><p> </p><p>He returns to the front door of the home less than 30 minutes later gripping bags of pasta; angle hair Carbonara, sparkling water and chocolate cheese-cake for dessert. It’s extravagant for lunch, he would normally just opt for a dull sandwich but Sylvie is much more deserving of slices of baloney. His ears take notice of the upbeat tempo of girly pop music as he tugs the door open and treads across the threshold. </p><p> </p><p>He breaks abruptly to witness Sylvie, her back fronting his position, she is dancing like a tiny tornado to a musical thump which appears to be surging from her cell phone. Her feet and legs pace in a unprescribed pattern of perfect timing, as her hips sway in an expert fashion. Her shoulders are relaxed, arms moving freely by her sides and occasionally above her head like a causal stretch. Her golden hair bounds at her shoulders like it’s trying to clasp the rhythm but just misses the tempo. She seems bright, carefree, joyfully emerged in her activity. ‘She is entirely adorable’, he hums internally. Then she shimmies her hips and ass to the crescendo of the song and adorable morphs to ‘sexy as hell’. This time blood rushes from his brain at a distressing rate to puddle below his belt buckle, obliging him to shift his stance in the doorway. The move must alert Sylvie to his presence because she whirls on her heels his direction. </p><p> </p><p>“Ohhh” she says with startlement. His eyes padlock on her face, her cheeks are rosy from the light exercise, and straightaways deepen to a red tomato color with what he reasons to be slight humiliation. </p><p> </p><p>He is sure that his own face and body are emulating nothing but frenzied desire, which he feels defenseless to mask. So, he doesn’t. Instead his mouth forms the heated words, “No need to stop, I’m happy to keep taking in that particular show.”        </p><p> </p><p>Sylvie covers her face with her hands, as she lets out an ‘I’m so embarrassed’ groan. He finds himself chuckling hardily aloud and grinning like a painted clown face. <br/>“Hungry?” he asks, raising the bag of food in the air for her to see. Because he certainly is.</p><p> </p><p>They set up take out containers and dig in with hungry gusto. Matt works hard to ignore the soft moans she makes as she swallows the angel hair dripping generously in cream sauce. He keeps his eyes glued to his plate after he had glanced upward once to find her tongue darting in and out to remove sauce from her pinked lips. The meal was becoming a play of sweet, sweet torture. He is both relieved and saddened when she finishes her pasta. ‘Focus up Casey’ he tells himself, ‘you are not some hormonal teenager gushing over a crush, you’re supposed to be acting as her friend, that is what she wants from you right now’. </p><p> </p><p>Resolving to do just that he clears his throat to check in, “So…” he starts, “I haven’t asked in a while, how are you? Really?” </p><p> </p><p>“The truth?”</p><p> </p><p>“Always Sylvie, you wouldn’t lie to me?” he hopes his voice is both teasing and earnest. </p><p> </p><p>“Not an out right lie, but when people ask… I’m scared to tell others how I really feel.” She continues, “No one wants to hear “it’s exactly the same or it’s minutely better”, people just want to hear “I’m great, all healed up”. So, I often say ‘I’m okay’ or ‘fine’ reasoning its somewhere on the spectrum what they want to hear and the actual truth.” </p><p> </p><p>She is right, now a days the question ‘how are you?’ is tossed about with little regard or desire for an honest answer. It has become similar to the question ‘how’s the weather?’ a forced small chat or gap filler to a conversation. No one wants or expects an individual answering this question to respond with more than ‘okay’ or ‘good’ because …. But he wants infinitely more as an answer to this question, specially from her.    </p><p> </p><p>“I want hear the truth, where you are actually at” he voices in sincerity. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s hard to explain” she says with uncertainty. </p><p> </p><p>“Please, try for me” he wants to know, its his desire to be included in every aspect of her life, even the hard parts. </p><p> </p><p>“Right now, I’m like this molten mixture of hurting, happy and healing. The portions of each in the concoction seem to fluctuate by the day or even hourly at times. And I’m just trying to figure it all out, when the three together seem like contradictions of themselves, as separate as oil, water and sugar. Some hours I feel good, with sparks of hope, and next hour I don’t know if I ever felt okay in the first place because the pain is so compounded, I start to edge into numbness. Again, most people don’t really want to hear all this, it’s so… messy. ‘Okay’ or ‘fine’ are answers that are acceptable because they are uncomplicated and trouble-free.”   </p><p> </p><p>He cringes inwardly at the word numb… She’s right, its uncomfortable to hear. But not because he doesn’t care enough to invest in the question or response but because he cares way too much. </p><p> </p><p>“There are individuals who are truly close to me, who know me well enough to recognize that I was not or am not ‘fine’ as I say. But then I worry when they accidently witness these startling instances of true happiness.” </p><p> </p><p>“A few of those instances strung together and I feel the weight of this unspoken expectation of now ‘I’m all better, completely healed, Sylvie Brett… joyous, positive and optimistic.’  Like the flipping of a light switch, it was off and now it on again. And who would willingly return it again to that off position. So, I feel trapped into this state of pretending and projecting this happiness to my friends because I had a few instances of enjoyment.”</p><p> </p><p>Matt recalls his witness of her ‘episodes of happiness’ over the past weeks; enjoyment in preparation and sampling of delicious pancakes, carving out angels in a snowy bank and dancing alone to girly pop music. They have positively arisen among the hurting and healing she has described. But he can also identify instances in which she was simulating joy. When her smile doesn’t ignite the spark of her eyes, and her laugh is pushed outward like a forced cough. He knows can spot the difference but others might miss it. Overall, she just seems to glow differently when she is actually happy.</p><p> </p><p>She starts again, “Those instances of being happy also bring guilt, that I had that happy moment among all the pain. It’s like I’m betraying my true current state of depression in some fashion. Which is ludicrous, because I don’t want to remain in this state, I want it far, far away from me. Yet it’s also the very last thing I experienced in remembrance of those people I lost. And giving it up in some ways is terrifying because then they are fully gone, I am letting them leave me completely. Then a worry that maybe for that reason, I’m not permitted to be fully happy ever again.” </p><p> </p><p>Its a horrible reason to remain in a state of grief and loss, but he understands wanting to hold onto the memories of others, even if they are the painful one.   </p><p> </p><p>“Then there is overwhelming fury and irritation at myself. For letting this thing beat me, or keep me down. For how long it seems to be taking to recover. I have all these “should statements” swarming through my head like bees around a hive. ‘I should be happy’, ‘I should know how to recover from this’, ‘I should be working harder’ and ‘I should be better by now’. I know logically that they aren’t grounded in any sort of truth, we can’t always be happy, it takes as long as necessary to heal, there is no prescribed work plan or assured remedy. But the self-talk is noisy and relentless, and there are moments when I doubt the logic and start to believe the self-reprimand. The worse is the voice that tells me I’m not better because I don’t deserve it, for some reason I am not worthy. That pisses me off, I want to be stronger than those moments of doubt.” </p><p> </p><p>‘Screw those voices!’ his own brain shouts as his anger bubbles over like boiled water. If possible, he would beat those statements, voices, noise with his fists into a silent submission.  </p><p> </p><p>“So yeah it’s messy and ugly and I bet THAT was a lot more than you were wanting to know” she finishes. Now that it’s all out in the open, he can almost observe her retreating inward, like a turtle moving into its protective shell. </p><p> </p><p>He reaches for her hand, an effort to keep her locked to him in the present, rubbing his calloused thumb tenderly between her knuckles.</p><p> </p><p>He feels like a dumb-ass, not realizing her experience was so multilayered of confounded. He knows it’s never as simple as ‘get over it’ but listening to her explanation, he is impressed and proud of how she has managed to navigate it to date. He feels awe, of her vulnerability, insight, perseverance, trust, in general the might of her heart. </p><p> </p><p>“Thank you” his voice comes out quiet and raw. “I wanted to know, to try to obtain some small level of understanding. It means the world to me that you shared.”</p><p> </p><p>The feeling of intimacy in the air becomes overpowering for Matt. Its consuming like thick and dark smoke in a fire, its all he can perceive and inhale in the moment. He would welcome it, lean into it with his entire being if they were involved or together. But there not, so he feels this need to check himself yet again. Only permitting himself this miniscule touch of her hand when he really wants to crush his mouth up hers with all the admiration, infatuation and wonder that is currently dammed up in his body. </p><p> </p><p>She has to feel that too, that powerful intimate connection, and that draw to be fully emerged in it just like him. But it’s her call, her move, he’s already shared his feelings, his wants. Well he has at least touched on them in conversation, full disclosure to her and even himself will need to wait. He prays that one day soon he will get that chance.</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. "You looked good in there"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry for the delay in updating yet again. My job keeps getting in the way of writing (insert eye roll and huff). Please let me know what you think of this chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sylvie remains stationed in her parked car under the flickering street-lamp near Molly’s. It’s been over a month since she has stepped inside the beloved establishment. Since before her bio-mother’s death and Scott’s move from Chicago with Amelia. She had been avoiding partaking in the social atmosphere with her friends and family, fearing she might feed the illusion of complete healing or recovery.</p><p> </p><p>But all day today she felt ‘okay’, and it had been the entirety of the day. Maybe even undergoing the movement in a tipping the scales towards the ‘good’ category. It had been while preparing her own dinner earlier that evening, the surprising resonance of humming softly to herself that had her acknowledging it. It had felt like forever since she had engaged in that activity with any sort of pleasurable feeling. She has always loved music and singing, from early childhood to adulthood but during her state of unhappiness music, especially lyrics, had just been painful. Today her melodic humming was like a gentle tickle to the recollection a previous enjoyment. She figured this was improvement of sorts. If a small ounce of joy was experienced in a hum, perhaps her favorite oldies purring from a jute box could replicate and/or amplify that positive feeling. </p><p> </p><p>She pushed her car door outward, to sprinted out across to Molly’s front door as if being chased by the evening air. Once inside she allowed her mind and body to take in familiar and comforting sensations. The cozy woods of the bar paneling and surface, the minor groan of the floorboards beneath her feet, the skyward blinking of mini lights, the easy chatter between patrons in and around the musical notes lulling from the old player. She felt herself sigh in a heartfelt contentment. Why had she ducked this place for as long as she had? She has always loved being here.</p><p> </p><p>It’s still early and a Tuesday night, so the crowd is perfectly thin. Making her way to the bar, she shrugs out of her purse strap and winter jacket, like she is making herself at home at a best friend’s house.</p><p> </p><p>Hermann is the first to greet her, a wide smile and fatherly glint to his eyes. “Well here here, if it isn’t Sylvie Brett” he comments. “Great to have you joining us kiddo, the usual?”</p><p> </p><p>The usual, is a glass of the ‘really good’ Rose, which is covertly stashed for her alone behind the bar.  </p><p> </p><p>“Yes please” she says with a shocking eagerness and wetting of her mouth. Hermann gives her a paternal wink and gets to fixing her drink. Her eyes move around to the rest of the room, Mouch and Ritter sit casually at the bar, offering a wave and nod her direction to acknowledge her presence. There are a few interns from med whom she recognizes but is not necessarily chummy with, it seems the majority of 51 is yet to arrive. She’s thankful, no one to overly emphasis or comment on her absence or return to the establishment. Then the swinging door to the back room springs open and Stella trots inwards a box of rum bottle’s filling her arms. When she sees Sylvie she shrieks at a level likely heard only by owls, dumps the box noisy on the bar top to races over and swathe her in a sisterly hug. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s been too long girlfriend” she bouts loudly. </p><p> </p><p>Sylvie feels herself laugh, “Stella you are acting like I’ve been gone for months, you saw me less than 48 hours ago on shift.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not the same. Well, the underrepresentation of estrogen remains the same…” she says glancing around at the depletion of females, “but being on shift is mostly work and I have missed our playtime girl,” she says with a wide smile.</p><p> </p><p>“Me too” she responds honestly, “It seems slow, do you think Hermann will let you join me for a drink?”</p><p> </p><p>“Ya, he might complain about it a little, but you let me do my thing. You know, smooth it over to think its his idea” she whispers with a wicked smile.<br/>Sylvie shakes her head with affection as she selects a high table near the wall.  </p><p> </p><p>She and Stella sit there for the next 45 minutes discussing everything and nothing in particular. She is in the middle of relaying the most recent nonsense dispute between co-owners of the bar, Mouch and Hermann when the front door swings ajar. Matt strolls inwards with Kelly trailing him. He sheds his jacket immediately upon entering, likely in a similar comfort she experienced walking through the door, this feeling of coming home. </p><p> </p><p>Sylvie tries not to let her eyes fixate but fails miserably. He is wearing black jeans which hug his hips perfectly. A navy blue sweater which clings to his obviously toned chest and shoulders, its visual texture reminding Sylvie of a cozy blanket. Even with their distance and the muted lighting of the bar, she notes that the blue of his shirt seems to ignite the blue tone of his eyes, causing them to glimmer like cut sapphires. His mouth is an effortless smile, like he too is in his accustomed and relaxed place. ‘He looks GOOOD!’ a bothersome and informative voice echoes inwardly. </p><p> </p><p>He nods and smiles casually at the members of 51, scanning to room to ensure he has connected with each individual. He is always so deliberate to acknowledge and identify each person, making them feel special. </p><p> </p><p>His eyes finally look to her, and his smile spreads wide where he is actually showing off his teeth. </p><p> </p><p>She registers that the intensity of his grin has her feeling like she’s belly flopped in a pool, breath flattened from her chest with a quick smack. </p><p> </p><p>He seems to now have tunnel vision as he stalks her direction. Kelly follows, but still pausing to make cordial comments to individuals at other tables. </p><p> </p><p>Getting to edge of their table, Matt barely acknowledges Stella’s presence.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey Matt” she says, struggling to break connection with his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey” he responds, his voice full of affection. </p><p> </p><p>He just keeps staring at her with that Matt Casey intensity and earnestness. The one that makes the woman under his gaze believe that he only has eyes for her. Like the world around them has been snuffed out as simply as wet fingertips pinching out a flaming match. </p><p> </p><p>She swears they exchange an entire conversation without words, and ponders what it might sound like. But the voices and point of view quickly become mixed up in her head.  ‘You’re here, I’m really glad you’re here, I want you here, I want you here with me, I want you, I want to kiss you again, I want you in my bed…’ Whoa, where did those last thoughts materialize from?'  </p><p> </p><p>Parts of that confusing dialogue are affirmed as he finally moves to place a hand on her shoulder and lean inward to softly state, “I am really happy you are here Sylvie Brett!”</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t trust herself to respond with words give her recent thought trajectory so she just matches his wide smile.</p><p> </p><p>She finally registers in her perihelial vision that Kelly has also joined their table, kissing noisily Stella’s neck before redirecting to Matt. “Hey Case, want to grab a beer?” jutting his head towards the bar.</p><p> </p><p>Matt nods but doesn’t break his eye lock or remove his hand from her shoulder. Its magnetic, his stare.</p><p> </p><p>His eyes remain on her considerably longer than appropriate, but she doesn’t move an inch or even blink fearing it might end. </p><p> </p><p>“Case, beer?” Severide says with smirk in his tone.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah”, he says.</p><p> </p><p>He gives her shoulder a delicate squeeze, then trails his finger-tips down her shoulder blade to gently break away just above the waist of her pants. It sears a line of flames, like a fire following a trail of gasoline, in the path it took down her back. Her betraying body seems to stand at attention, causing her to straighten in her chair. Outside of that path the rest of her body hatches a batch of prickly goosebumps, which may actually have resulted in her outwardly shuttering. Her eyes roll back so far in her head with delight that she could likely check out her own ass. </p><p> </p><p>Casey and Severide are barely out of earshot when Stella leans forward with an intent and serious expression.</p><p> </p><p>What… was… that? She asks, accentuating and pausing between each word.</p><p> </p><p>Sylvie doesn’t even think she has the ability to play up the denial, her body obviously having betrayed her already.</p><p> </p><p>She takes a sip of her sweet wine to steady herself. Stella is not about to give up when she is fishing for information, “Are you two finally sleeping together?” she asks louder than necessary.</p><p> </p><p>The wine lodges itself in an uncomfortable location in her esophagus, causing her to cough and sputter.</p><p> </p><p>“No… no,” she spats between coughs. “Sheesh Stella, keep your voice down, please.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry, you know how I am when I get excited” she shrugs. She continues in outward thought, “Okay so not admitting to FINALLY jumping his bones, but something has happened, there is a definite system change here, on both weather fronts,” Her eyes dart between both her and Matt.</p><p> </p><p>She is correct, there has been a shift. Perhaps it was the singular kiss, or his acknowledgement of wanting more in their relationship. Perhaps it was the intense intimacy of their recently shared moments. Maybe she is truly on the mend in terms of being herself again, allowing her to feel… well everything. Whatever the reason or perhaps combination of reasons, denial was no longer an option or place she wanted to be. She has feelings for Matt, well beyond friendship. The problem now, what to do or not do with those feelings. Her body has already presented its-self a traitor this evening, her mind seems to be following a similar trend, but it’s her heart that she is most concerned about. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s complicated” Sylvie huffs. </p><p> </p><p>“Not according to your body” Stella practically snorts.</p><p> </p><p>“And some very heated thoughts”, she murmurs, more to herself than Stella.</p><p> </p><p>Stella slams her hand repeatedly on the table in excitement. “Yes, yes finally”. The action again draws the attention of those around them.</p><p> </p><p>Sylvie’s voice is now reeking of embarrassment. “Stella…” she says through gritted teeth. </p><p> </p><p>“Sorry girl, this is big! You know, movement away from the denial stance you have maintained months” she is accentuates with big grin. </p><p> </p><p>She concedes in a hushed tone, “Your right, I’m past the point of refuting it. But I don’t know that I should be acting on any of…” she trails off not sure of how to verbalize her present desires aloud. </p><p> </p><p>“Hell yes you should” Stella interjects in heady affirmation. “Give me one good reason, why not?”</p><p> </p><p>“He was married to my former partner and best friend?”</p><p> </p><p>“'Was' and 'former' being key words in that statement. Past tense descriptors. There are no resumed obligations or duty for either of you in reference to Gabby. The “girl code” no longer applies in this type of situation. Next?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m still… working on getting better, being happy again. Being myself. It’s not wise, or fair to be in a relationship when I’m slightly messed," Sylvie offers.  </p><p> </p><p>“Matt makes you happy,” Stella states. “I mean your smiles when he walks in the room are the tell tale sign… Besides it seems like he is in the know in terms of your wellbeing and isn’t trotting the other direction.”</p><p> </p><p>“What if it goes badly? I can’t lose anyone else in my life, I can’t lose him,” she honestly shares.</p><p> </p><p>Stella eyes soften in complete seriousness. “It won’t go badly, it will be incredible. Trust me, I have money waged on this.” She winks. “But in the unlikely result that it doesn’t work out he will still be Casey. He is involved, devoted, and absorbed in everyone’s life who matters to him regardless of the history.”  </p><p> </p><p>“He isn’t a part of Gabby’s life anymore” she tries in rebuttal. </p><p> </p><p>Stella scoffs, “You and I both know that was firstly her choice, not his.”</p><p> </p><p>Stella is right, of course, it was a weak retort. In fact, all her excuses seem to be holding less weight or logic than previous. Like grains of sand sliding between her finger-tips, impossible to grip due to their insignificant nature. Her previous resolve definitely wavering and consideration or possibility seemed to be taking hold. <br/>Stella gets called back to bartending, leaving Sylvie with a quick hug and reassuring smile. </p><p> </p><p>Sylvie’s evening continues. She moves tables to easily chat with Chloe and Cruz about newly married life. She feels affection in their obvious bliss.  She also manages to converse with Will Hanstand over Foster’s upcoming panel with Northwestern, and perfect fit she will be as a doctor. The panel is the reason for her partners absence this evening. She is pouring over medical journals attempting to get her head in the game. Sylvie is pleased with herself that she seems to speak over the topic without feelings of impending dread.</p><p> </p><p>Matt seems to keep his distance most of the evening. It not that he is ignoring her. It’s like he is allowing her to soak in environment, connect with others and feel out just being herself again. She appreciates it, he is being thoughtful, but it feels a void of their typically enjoyable interactions. There is a longing pulsing inside to speak and share these moments with him.   </p><p> </p><p>Despite their lack of conversing she is consistently aware of his presence, his placement in the room, his eyes or smile on her. It’s like a new sense she has developed. An instinctual consciousness, causing a balminess and tingling in her body surrounding her now acknowledged attraction to him. Added to it is a reassurance of comfort. This sense or promise that if this environment suddenly became too much that she would immediately find him at her side as a shield or anchor.</p><p> </p><p>In a desire to end the evening and the day on a good note, and while it is still considered early, she starts her round of goodbyes.</p><p> </p><p>Matt snags her tenderly by the elbow as she is headed out , “Walk you out?” he says with readiness in his manner. </p><p> </p><p>She logs immediately how the secure but gentle grip of his fingers on her forearm sends electrical flow spiking to her fingertips and into her shoulder. It travels directly to her heart stunning it into a lop-sided rhythm. She manages a slight nod and shy smile, which has him snagging his jacket off a nearby chair.  </p><p> </p><p>They stroll silently to her vehicle. At the driver’s door he finally speaks, “Did I mention how good it was to see you here tonight?” </p><p> </p><p>She finds herself smiling and saying, “You did, but its sounds just as good the second time around.”</p><p> </p><p>“You looked good in there, I mean to say… genuinely happy” he adds fumbling over words.</p><p> </p><p>“It was a good day overall” she concedes aloud.</p><p> </p><p>He seems to beam at her omission. “Really glad to hear that Sylvie Brett!” he says, then steps forward to envelop her in his arms. The initial embrace is like he is pleased for her or congratulatory but it speedily morphs to something else. She nuzzles into the cozy blanket of his shirt to breath in the scent on his chest. It’s a lingering mixture of sawdust and fire truck fuel and something entirely Matt. She allows her hands to slide under his winter jacket and stroke that fabric gently on his back. She registers him dip his head to burrow his face into her hair and overhears a deep breath followed by a slight moan. They stand there for minutes longer than necessary, both an eternity and not nearly long enough. </p><p> </p><p>He finally pulls backwards but maintains his hold around her waist. He evokes the Matthew Casey stare which liquifies the last bits of her solid resolve.<br/>She feels unable to control her actions, her eyes flicking repeatedly between his deep blues and his mouth. She recalls the texture of his mouth, bold and heated. She barely got a taste the last time. She wonders if he would taste rich and hobby, like the amber liquid he had been ingesting at the bar. </p><p> </p><p>She feels her eyes dish in her own shock. She wants to kiss him, the urge mounding like a snow-ball rolling down the slope increasing in size and might. She involuntarily licks her lips with expectancy. </p><p> </p><p>She notes his eyes enlarge with a heated response to her movement. “Sylvie?” seepages as a whisper from that glorious mouth. It sounds like both a question and plea.</p><p> </p><p>In that moment she knows what she wants, she opens her mouth to make her request. To say “kiss me”. ‘Not because I feel empty and dead this time but because we both want too’.</p><p> </p><p>It is at that moment that blinding headlights accost their position, causing them to break away and wince at the glare. </p><p> </p><p>Disappointment screams through her mind like a banshee. As does the irritation at the continued unlucky streak that seems to follow them when it comes to possible life changing instances.  </p><p> </p><p>He seems to offer an apologetic smile. “Goodnight Sylvie” he says in a hushed voice, “I hope you have the sweetest dreams.”</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. "Are you Drunk?"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There are some chapter which get stitched together with painful pricks of the needle. Where every word and sentence is a struggle, this chapter was not one of those. I had this clear vision of how it would play out in my mind, and the words just laid themselves out on the page in a perfect order. I hope you enjoy it, its a cliff hangar yet again, but promise that the next one will give you all the heated details. </p><p>I want to thank Readymcreaderson for a previous comment which I may have quoted in this chapter! </p><p>As always please send me your thoughts, can't get enough of those, just as you say you cant get enough of this story!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Matt descended the cement staircase leading into the club. He executes a double eye roll at the terribly lit neon sign that shouts at him with the promise of tonight’s torture in the word… Karaoke!  Argh! His hands wraps around the curved handle of the door as head falls to his chest with slumped nuisance, of course it has to be a Karaoke bar. </p><p> </p><p>It is the location of Foster’s congratulatory party. Her panel at Northwestern completed days ago, and an offer from the admissions board for med school had followed in short order. She has been accepted for next semester which is only a month away. Foster is, of course, throwing a party for herself, and everyone at 51 is expected to participate. No one had mentioned to him that the celebration included the opportunity for complete and utter humiliation. He is skilled in many areas; singing is without a doubt not one of them. Not to mention that he never could get used to the internal cringe which radiated his body when others took the stage who similarly lacked this talent. It’s supposed to be fun… others appear to experience it as fun but really… he would rather be an unfit and cocky candidate running his first drills to be squarely mortified at his lack of stamina than get on this particular type of stage.    </p><p> </p><p>He reasoned that entering the club is the Captain like thing to do. To be present, act as a leader and celebrate the victories of his family. But that truly wasn’t what had him ultimately pulling the door handle open to enter the space. He was admittedly there for a singular reason, she has silky blond hair, sky blue eyes and a smile which when it appeared could put the brightness of the sun to shame.</p><p> </p><p>Sylvie Brett had taken up residence in his thoughts since their last interactions at Molly’s, and it appeared that this residency was to be long term and permanent. Thoughts of her had been unyielding and relentless from the moment he woke until he stumbled back into bed and what felt like every merciless minute in between. Making his coffee, driving his truck, at his construction site, preparing dinner, during the Blackhawks' game and sprawled on his bed sheets. He had thoughts about her before, but never in this all-consuming and compounding manner. </p><p> </p><p>It had been a pleasurable shock to see her reinsert herself at Molly’s a few nights ago. To witness her reexperience the enjoyment of a home coming, both in essence and observation. He purposefully worked at giving her space to relish in it, but it had been difficult. Shit, difficult was an underestimation and underrepresentation. The draw to be next to her as she laughed and smiled was like an addict being drawn to a relapse. He had managed to remain at the distance with his body, but his eyes failed to cooperate in any such manner. They were glued to her in a stalker like fashion all evening. In the end he couldn’t let her just depart, he just needed just one hit, if he was using his addiction analogy. </p><p> </p><p>He had wanted to be encouraging, help her recognize and acknowledge that she was accelerating on her road to healing. He could see it clearly that evening. Hearing her personally admit it in the parking lot had sent him into an irrational state of bliss. He had practically thrown himself into her arms in honest jubilation. She deserved to be happy again, Sylvie Brett of all persons was the most deserving. But his approving and congratulatory action converted with an awed expedience.<br/>
The way in which she had burrowed into his chest felt greedy and possessive, like she could not get enough of him. Her hands on his back weren’t light or affectionate, but her palms moved with a heated pressure like she was memorizing the arch and tone of each of his muscles. He was incapable to retain the moan fleeing from his chest. He had viciously scolded himself for his reaction until he caught the movement of her eyes. Moving feverishly between his eyes and his mouth. She wanted him to kiss her, he was certain, even during his current replay of the moment. She had all but made the request aloud, her pink tongue slowly darting to moisten her lips. He could have smashed his mouth against hers in that instance, lord knows that was everything he wanted. But damm his gentlemanly tendencies to verbally question her wants and desires. Really all he had managed to articulate was her name, but the questions were embedded beneath that utterance. Do you want me to kiss you? Are you ready for this? Are you well enough? Do you want me? Do you want us? Unfortunately, the moment was lost by the goddamn asshole driving with long range lights in the city. None of those questions received answers, not that evening or since that night. Leaving him on a never-ending merry go round of Sylvie since that moment. Tonight, was unlikely to afford any opportunity at a resolution, but there he was conceding to endure Karaoke, because despite his unrelenting thought pattern he simply could not get enough of Sylvie Brett. </p><p> </p><p>He strolls down the narrow hallway, music increasing in loudness and intensity, as it opens to a larger area. He only briefly notes the configuration or the room or even the members present as his eye padlock to the stage. </p><p> </p><p>Because it is of course, Sylvie, on stage singing, commanding every ounce of his attention and being.  </p><p> </p><p>He recognizes the song instantly; she is mid chorus of Pat Benatar’s “Hit Me With Your Best Shot”. A completely fitting song given all the universe had recently thrown her direction. He has heard Sylvie sing aloud on one previous occasion, a romantic ballad at a wedding hosted at their station years ago. She had an amazing singing voice at that time, which had sounded and he had appreciated as almost angelic. Right now, during this song, it was drastically different that which he had previously recalled. Right now, her voice is powerful, challenging and as sexy as fuck. She moved about the stage with a playful sway, owning each step with a confidence that made his mouth water like one of Pavlov’s poor mutts. He registers her attire as she rolls her hips to the guitar solo. She is sporting tight leather pants, which with the spotlight are accenting the curves of her hips and ass. In addition, she adorn a red shirt, as bright as his firetruck and cut in a perfect V at the neck, to show but not show the swells of her breasts. He attempts to suck in air, but reasons that it has been depleted from the room, because he comes up empty. He tingles everywhere in his body, his head, his arms, legs, fingers and toes. And below his belt buckle, there is an appreciative movement there, because of her performance. </p><p> </p><p>Finally, she belts out the final line of the song with the assurance of a Rockstar having sung that particular tune a thousand time previous. There are hoots, hollers and wolfly whistles from everyone in the room. She responds with one of her mega watt smiles which results in his complete undoing. He fully hardened and heated beneath the fly of his jeans. Like a teenage boy eagerly catching his first view of a naked woman. Thankfully Sylvie is not naked, or there would be a humiliating mess. She has now exited the stage but he remains rooted in place, fearful that any movement with literally detonate his current state. He recites socket measurements in an effort to, to do something, rather than continue to gawk like a horny teenager just as Severide approaches. Even as Kelly takes up residence at his side, Matt still follows Sylvie weaving her way to a nearby high-chaired table where Foster and Kidd give her deserving high fives. </p><p> </p><p>“Case” Kelly says with his shit eating smirk as he follows Matt’s laser focus.</p><p> </p><p>“She was damm good up there,” Sev notes with appreciation in his voice.</p><p> </p><p>That jerks Matt to his friend. He knows Kelly, trusts Kelly, but possessiveness immediately floods his blood like a Neanderthal. As he eyes Kelly’s face he realizes Sev is completely toying with him, egging him for that exact reaction, just like any brother would. He rolls his eyes at himself that he stupidly landed in that trap.<br/>
His goes back to watching Sylvie. Just as he locks back to her face, she looks his direction. The smile that forms across her red painted lips is complete mischievousness, and then she slowly and deliberately winks. </p><p> </p><p>He blinks, repeatedly, with surprise. “Did she just…” he says aloud to himself. Of course, Sev helpfully responds.</p><p> </p><p>“Did she just issue you a sinful wink?” he says. “I don’t think that was directed at me, but I’m willing to go check it out if you’re not interested…”</p><p> </p><p>Matt instinctively interrupts his sentence by shooting his arm out to land hard against Kelly’s chest. Like he is holding him back, even though Kelly has made no motion forward.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t” he says, he then starts moving Sylvie’s direction, as Kelly roars with laughter at his back. </p><p> </p><p>She notes his approach, meeting him halfway at an adjacent high table, her drink in hand. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey Sylvie” he manages to voice.</p><p> </p><p>“Captain…” she responds. Only it is in no way like she has ever verbalized his title before. Its sultry and full of wicked promises. HOLY SHIT! Is she flirting? Flirting with him? The wink, the tone in her voice… </p><p> </p><p>“Are you drunk?” he stupidly spills out with bewilderment. The minute it is out, he wants to slap his own forehead with his palm. </p><p> </p><p>She laughs softly, it’s like a sweet melody. </p><p> </p><p>“No Matt, I’m not drunk” she says. “To do that” she points a finger back to the stage where she had previously been singing, “I have to be deliberately situated between feeling good and tipsy. Just enough liquid courage to stand on stage, but not enough to mess up the words and make a complete idiot of myself.”</p><p> </p><p>He nods with understanding but is still overall dumbfounded. He doesn’t verbally respond while in contemplation.</p><p> </p><p>Her voice dips again into that suggestive tone “Since I’m not intoxicated, perhaps you would like to offer to buy me another drink?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hummm sure,” he says clumsily “what can I get you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Just something wet and sweet” she says, its a little shyer this time but still with innuendo.  </p><p> </p><p>He nods like an idiot yet again, and miraculously he moves his legs to the bar. Kelly is there, still smirking like the goof he is.  As he orders a simple beer for himself and at fruity pink cocktail for Sylvie, Sev nudges his shoulder, “Sooooo?” he asks.</p><p> </p><p>“She’s flirting, I think…” Matt says.</p><p> </p><p>“Obviously!” Sev responds in concurrence. “What did you say to her?”</p><p> </p><p>“I asked her if she was drunk” he says, still in some sort of fog. </p><p> </p><p>Kelly hollers at a decibel above the singer on stage. Slapping his hand on Matt shoulder, he folds in two holding his other hand to his stomach with boisterous hysterics. Matt gives him the finger, which only seems to double his efforts. Matt then shoots him an “I am going to kill you” look which works to sober Kelly, well mostly. He straightens his body and makes a horribly poor attempt at a level and serious face.</p><p> </p><p>“Man, that woman is practically screaming aloud I want you, and you suspect she’s drunk?” he shakes his head. “Please stop being a dumb ass, get over there and let her know you want the same thing.”</p><p> </p><p>“I kinda did that already, didn’t I?” he wonders aloud.</p><p> </p><p>Kelly nods but glances over to Sylvie, “Well that was almost a month ago, maybe letting her know your still interested might help propel things forward. Come on Case, you maybe rusty but you’ve got more game questioning her level of sobriety.”</p><p> </p><p>“Rusty!?” he scoffs.</p><p> </p><p>Kelly is kind enough to only raise an eye-brow in response. </p><p> </p><p>Matt grabs their drinks and saunters back to the table, where Sylvie is patiently waiting. He’s got this, he’s got game. Nevermind that it is likely the most important inning of his god damm life… </p><p> </p><p>He reaches the table setting the pink beverage in front of her. She smiles delicately, which seems to both sooth and excite him simultaneously. </p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t know you could sing like that?” he says motioning like she did to the stage. </p><p> </p><p>“Sing like that?” she asks softly.</p><p> </p><p>“Like a beautiful and confident bad ass” he responds. </p><p> </p><p>Her smile is prideful and elated by his compliment. Screw you Sev, rusty my ass, he thinks to himself.  </p><p> </p><p>“You liked it?” She asks, with both a playfulness and a genuine interest in his opinion resonating in her voice.</p><p> </p><p>He leans forward, lowering his tone to an intimate level, he chooses honesty over a playful banter “Sylvie Brett, that was incredible… fierce, vivacious and hot as fuck.” </p><p> </p><p>Her eyes light up like neon in the dark room, and color encroaches on her cheeks and chest. Its not coyness or awkwardness, its her, reacting to his effort at reciprocation. Damm, he adores that particular response.   </p><p> </p><p>She raises a hand to place on his forearm which has been resting on the edge of the table. Her finger-tips graze his flesh in delicious stroking movements. It’s innocent in terms of appearance and location but send electrical shocks up his arm which seem to fork out to every corner of his body. </p><p> </p><p>“Thanks Matt” she murmurs, continuing her motion while staring at him with both affection and desire. God, he wants to kiss her, with every atom in his body. To lean forward and taste that sweet and playful mouth once again. But not here, it can’t be here, in front of everyone. Not the first time, or second, whatever he is supposed to call it. He contemplates dragging her from bar right that moment to find an appropriate location, when she gets drawn from behind by Kidd and Foster. She is sadly and with high levels of what he reasons to be shared frustration, whisked back to the stage to participate in an all girl sing a long performance. He breathes inward and outward with measured stokes in search of his absentee patience, as determination gradually mounds. Tonight… no more faulty timing or interruptions, it will be tonight. She wants it, he wants it, it will happen. </p><p> </p><p>XXX</p><p> </p><p>An hour and half later, the crowd of 51 finally starts to thin. Sylvie is now propped with her chin in her hand, elbow resting on the table, taking in a conversation between Ritter and Gallo. He can see a sleepiness encroaching into her features. When she attempts to mask a small yawn behind her finger-tips he is off his chair and swiftly at her side. </p><p> </p><p>“Let me take you home” he whispers into her ear, “You are exhausted.”</p><p> </p><p>She nods with affirmation. Sliding down from her chair, while removing her jacket from its arms. “Just let me tell Em, we came together.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll meet you at the exit” he assures her. He quickly executes paying his tab and collecting his own jacket, meeting her at the door. </p><p> </p><p>They silently making their way from the club to his truck. He opens to door and with additional quietness she climbs inside. The 15 minute drive to her apartment, stilled and hushed. By the time he has parallel parked in front of her residence he has convinced himself that their interactions earlier, the playful and heated flirting were a figment of his imagination. Their moment is yet again snuffed, lost, seemingly ripped from his existence. </p><p> </p><p>She undoes her seatbelt, adjusting her body his direction. “Walk me to my front door?” she asks. It sounds slightly nervous, but also with a sliver of promise in its tone.</p><p> </p><p>He registers a spark of hope as he departs from his truck. Following her up the walkway, through the front door, across the lobby and down the hallway. When she reaches her apartment door she makes no motion to open it, just turns to face him with some sort of expectancy. </p><p> </p><p>He stares into her eyes, truly trying to map out her expectations of this moment. She takes a smallish step forward, raising her palms to rest squarely upon his chest. They are heated, and immediately cause a expedient rhythm of his heart like the pads firing on a Difb. His reflex and response is to smoothly place his hands to her hips. Inches separate their bodies, and heat is created in the pocket between them. When she again starts fliting her eyes between his and his mouth, he wants to cry in sweet agony. </p><p> </p><p>“Sylvie, I need you to say it out loud” he breaths out in a needy frustration. “I need to hear that you want this, that you are ready.”</p><p> </p><p>“I want this,” she responds softly, “I want you to kiss me.”</p><p> </p><p>God its like hearing a chorus of angels harmonizing his name, yet he still hesitates. Not because he doesn’t want to, he has never desired anything so strongly in his entire existence. He is certain that refusing himself in this moment would likely to equate to an electrical shock stopping his heart. But it is Sylvie, currently the most important person in his life, maybe the most important in the entirety of his life, fuck, he has to get this right, for both of them.     </p><p> </p><p>“Are you absolutely sure?” he whispers a final time. He continues searching her face busily and governed for a sliver of doubt.</p><p> </p><p>“Completely certain,” she states. “This time it’s not because I’m dead or vacant. But because I want you to kiss me, because I want you. I am done with the denial and the excuses I have been telling myself for months. Now please, stop being Matt Casey, the perfect gentleman, shut up and kiss me?” She finishes, appearing breathless but her words sound fully earnest and resolute. </p><p> </p><p>Despite it sounding like an order, there is an adoring and worshipping smile touching her lips, which he finds himself quickly mirroring.  As he dips his head, titling it in anticipation of slanting his lips over hers, he murmurs his last audible thought with playful appreciation and surrender, “Yes mam!”</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Requesting the Slow Burn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hey all, its a little bit of a short chapter, but did not want to leave you all hanging about what their second kiss would be like. Its mostly smut! But do love writing about it! Let me know what you think please!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Yes mam” are the last words she hears. His tone, a pleasant mixture of sin and sweetness in Sylvie’s ears. She allows her lashes to flutter downward as he closes the distance between their mouths. It is already completely and wonderfully different this time. He is not reawaking her from dead place, she is fully present and in for the complete experience that is kissing Matt Casey. It’s only seconds as he lowers towards her but the anticipation in this moment is the magnification and recollection of every wondering and longing she has experienced over the past months. She feels it as a nervous and excited hummmm in every cell of her body. Like standing under industrial powerlines, that resonance of mild electrical current that you can hear faintly buzzing and experience in the spiking the tiny hairs on your body.</p><p> </p><p>His mouth finally slants over hers, it’s an almost imperceptible meeting at first, given how delicate he is being. She might not even notice except that every once of her attention is focused at that particular joining point. It resonates to Sylvie as blindly sweet and dreamy. Its as she pictures a handsome prince, gently claiming his princess in one of her favorite Disney features. </p><p> </p><p>As he increases the pressure, she notes the warmth and softness of his mouth. She wants to pull back and scream aloud at how unfair it is his lips to be this smooth and velvety, but wouldn’t dare break away from him now.  </p><p> </p><p>He pushes, kneads, nips at and rubs at her lips with his own. He is exceedingly thorough, god damm he is thorough. Like he is slowly exploring every crease and nerve ending of her mouth. She should have discerned that he would be this controlled and methodical, as he is in other aspects of his life.  When he seems to have tasted her mouth corner to corner, he presses his tongue to the seam of her lips as gentle request for entry. She parts her mouth with an eagerness to continue. She expects him to dive right in but again he seems determined on a precise and disciplined approach, now an unhurried discovery of the inside of mouth and the movement of their tongues together. His pace is like torture against the expediential need and want growing in her body. He tastes heavenly, faint traces of rich beer and salted pretzels from the bar. As his relentless onslaught continues, her skin everywhere becomes tight and heated, like its being constricted against a now rolling boil of her blood. That boiling has her heart pounding a rhythm of sheer lust. It is practically screaming his name with every thunderous beat. If she was willing to break away, she might shout his name aloud, either as a curse or a praise at his skill. Where in god’s name did this man learn to kiss?  </p><p> </p><p>She palms one hand up his chest to the back of his head. Pushing him towards her while trying to grip and pull at his short cut hair. That is slightly frustrating so she fists the front of his shirt at its nape yanking him closer. She desperately needs him closer. She can feel him briefly smirk into her mouth at her action. She adores the instant of his cockiness however it reminds her that she is not just a solely a bashful participant in this kissing. She has moves, smooth and brilliant moves. Moves that that will hopefully get Matt Casey as close to undone as she is rapidly approaching. </p><p> </p><p>When he opens his lips to her again, she experimentally runs her tongue quickly across the roof of his mouth. It nicely elicits a guttural moan from Matt’s chest. She might actually purr with pleasure at his response. Pleased with that particular result she executes the move a second time, this time ending it with a gentle sucking of his bottom lip. Whether it the sensation she has created or that she has now taken governance, he instantly becomes unrestrained, like a fire that has just found another room full of oxygen. </p><p> </p><p>He is no-longer the controlled and composed Matt Casey she is accustomed to witnessing. It is rapid and thrilling as he responds by driving his fingers into her hips, spins them a quarter turn to shove her against her front door. An “oh” of surprise and delight slips for her mouth to his. Its impressive that he maneuvers them without breaking their lip locking connection. His mouth is now fierce, wild and likely bruising upon her lips, but it’s gloriously perfect. He crowds her completely, chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis, a fit like two puzzle pieces that an individual has spent hours searching to snap together in satisfaction. Everything about where this is going is a promise of satisfaction. His body is toned and solid like brick wall, but not at all cold and unmoving. As he now feverishly moving his heated hands up and down her rib cage to the side swells of her breasts. They ache for his attention, straining against all the material between them. He shoves his thigh between her legs, drawing all her attention to that particular area which is now throbbing with want. For him, ‘Shit!’ how she wants him. She grinds slightly hoping to ease that ache. He groans, loudly, as he quickly slides one hand down her ass, lowering farther down her thigh to yank at the back of her knee tugging low around his hip. She is now one footed, but without worry of toppling over, he’s got her. He really has got her. Its now his turn to grind his pelvis against hers, she can feel him hard, unbelievably hard, nudging perfectly close to their endgame.    </p><p> </p><p>The kiss has become reckless, as they continue to one up each other in their onslaught. They are wound around each other like spun cotton, unclear where one starts and the other end. He has become so demanding and possessive with his mouth, tongue, hands, body he might actually take her right there, in the hallway, and she is very very close to letting it happen. There is just too much clothing between them, jackets, shirts, pants, underwear, all very much in the way. Her hand instinctively slides between them in search of skin, to clumsily fumble at the hem of his sweater to his stomach under it. The minute she touches his taunt and smooth abs his head snaps up and away from her mouth like she has branded him. </p><p> </p><p>“Shit, Sylvie!” escapes from his lips. It’s sounds somewhere between a gasp, whine and moan. His hand that had been exploring her curves covers her wrist, drawing it away gently from his flesh. His hand encasing her knee upward slowly releases so she is flat footed once again. But he doesn’t fully retreat, their bodies remain pressed into one another. </p><p> </p><p>She momentarily thinks that she has miss-stepped until she meets his eyes. His pupils are blown, dancing with urgency, ache, want and perhaps a touch of surprise. He lowers his head again but not to resume their kiss, to lay his forehead against hers. While doing so seeks out her hands moving them to their sides while interlacing their fingers. </p><p> </p><p>Foreheads crushed together they breath in each other labored breaths. Its fully intimate, the air he has just breathed going deep into her own lungs as she struggles to maintain consciousness.</p><p> </p><p>“You could come inside…” she offers with a still shaky voice. Fully aware of the extent of her offer.</p><p> </p><p>“I really shouldn’t” he says, but not with any sort of conviction.</p><p> </p><p>“but you want to…” she is fairly certain but…</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck yes” he says with exasperation. </p><p> </p><p>She can’t help the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Until she hears him say, “I want to do this right, and I feel like I’m already failing miserably.”</p><p> </p><p>She frowns slightly with confusion. There was absolutely nothing wrong about the way he kissed her, what in heaven is he talking about?</p><p> </p><p>“Sylvie, Our first kiss was well… unorthodox. Our second kiss was just incredible, every second of it, but it moved a lot quicker than I wanted. His eyes seem to register that surprise she had observed previously, like he can’t quiet grasp how it escalated in the manner it had.  </p><p> </p><p>“You’re just thinking that because we both practically came in the hallway against my front door”  she comments with amusement and sass. She smiles with pride at herself for the brashness of her retort. </p><p> </p><p>He groans, dropping his head above her shoulder to bang on it gently on her front door. She giggles at his efforts.  </p><p> </p><p>He mutters “Sylvie, You can’t say stuff like that out loud, its sexy as fuck dropping from your lips, and I’m trying to explain…  We haven’t even been on a first date!” <br/>His last sentence is mixed with disbelief and frustration.</p><p> </p><p>“Well tonight was kind of a date, I mean there was food, drinks, music and even some flirting” she offers.</p><p> </p><p>He scoffs, “Pretzels, cheap beer and Karaoke are not in the vicinity, area code or country of a proper date. Certainly not one with you.” He pauses becoming serious.</p><p> </p><p>“I want to actually date you. Like taking you to fancy restaurants, late night movies and bbq’s with friends before either of us is coming against a wall,” he says. </p><p> </p><p>“You mean against a door” she chooses to helpfully corrects.</p><p> </p><p>He chuckles, shaking his head lightly then sobers up again, “I get what I am asking for is old fashioned, antiquated, hell maybe even boarders anti-feminist. I’ve just have thought about this a lot and every relationship I have had has been like gasoline on kindling. These moments of bright and hot flashover that burn quickly to nothingness. I don’t want that for us. I want to take the time and the care. I think we already have strong foundation, that circle of rocks or the kindling lit slowly with a match. I just want to be deliberate about putting additional logs on the fire. I want the warm slow burn, the one that results in those hard coals which seem to retain heat forever.”   </p><p> </p><p>Immediately her heart warms and tingles, hearing he is contemplating them being together ‘forever’. She’ll revisit that particular word later. She considers his request and its wisdom. She definitely has experienced similar relationships. Being with Antonio was the essence of flash and burn, Harrison had been an expectation in terms of direction which she had thankfully veered off course. The relationship with Kyle had developed slower, but then quit completely then jumped right to engagement. Really each of those relationships were had started abruptly. Perhaps the foundation that Matt was speaking about would be the difference this time around. All that said, it already feels like she has been waiting an eternity to be the women under his gaze, how much longer was she required to wait?</p><p> </p><p>“Just how slow of a burn are we talking about?” She genuinely queries. “Like post first date hookup or were not going to do it until you are carrying me across the threshold in a white dress?”</p><p> </p><p>His laugh now it guttural, “How about we aim for somewhere in between?” </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know”, she says in thought, “there is a lot of ground to cover between those two points.”</p><p> </p><p>“How about we just talk about it along the way?” He says with his own thoughtful tone “not necessarily a set goal post but a discussion when needed about if we are moving too fast or too slow for either of us, and not just in regards to sex.” </p><p> </p><p>“I like it,” she says, “a very grown up approach.”</p><p> </p><p>“I try,” he responds with a smirk.</p><p> </p><p>There is a moment of silence.</p><p> </p><p>“Sooooo…” she tries prompting.</p><p> </p><p>“So?” he asks suddenly appearing lost. </p><p> </p><p>“Are you going to ask me out on a date? So we can… you know… start that slow burn thing you mentioned?” she quires. </p><p> </p><p>He laughs again, taking a small step backwards but folds their intertwined hands up to his face. He kisses her knuckles gently, then looks into her eyes in adoration. </p><p> </p><p>“Sylvie Brett, will you please go out with me on a date?” he voices. </p><p> </p><p>“Matthew Casey, I would love that, its about time you asked!” she responds.</p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. “First Date and a little Blip”</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A new chapter on the eve of Chicago Fire season 9. Because I love Brettsey and am hoping that if I put yet another chapter of Brett and Casey fluff, comfort and heat that it will will it to the universe to give me some in return. Hope you enjoy! Please let me know what you love, what you hate, what you want more of!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Although Matt had requested a ‘slow burn’ he was admittedly a little eager to get started. So, he did make arrangements for their first date to commence the evening immediately following their heated lip lock. </p><p> </p><p>As promised from his ‘you deserve to be dated speech’ to Sylvie he made reservations at a fancy restaurant in town. He donned respectable first date attire, shinned shoes, dress pants, crisp grey button up shirt and a fitted blazer.</p><p> </p><p>He certainly was unprepared for her version of first date attire as she opened her front door of her apartment. </p><p> </p><p>For the first time in their entire relationship he allowed himself to fully take her in, to appreciate her beauty. Not a fleeting or stolen glance but deliberate once over with his eyes. Black heels had her raised a few inches taller than normal as pink painted toes peeking out him from her shores like a tease. Her legs appear longer than he thought possible for her stature, as shapely cafes flow perfectly into toned thighs. They got cut horizontally by soft burgundy fabric of her dress lapping in methodical waves. Her dress wrapped around her, knotting at the side with a bow like a present expectantly waiting to be opened and unwrapped. The wrapping centered a perfect ‘v’ between her breasts, showing off a large her alabaster skin which Matt deduced would be smoother than marble to the touch. She had a body built for sinful thoughts, all of which were flying at Matt at an alarming rate. His mouth seems drier than the Sahara desert as he works his adam's apple with vigor. When his eyes finally reached her face, he notices that she is smirking with a distinct level of sass. Obviously, she witnessed his slow trek and outward appreciation of her outfit. It’s her brilliant blue eyes and that beaming smile that fully do him in, they are the warmth and radiance of sunlight.   </p><p> </p><p>“Gor… Gorgeous” seems to be all he can formulate aloud.</p><p> </p><p>“Not so bad yourself Mr. Casey,” she hums at him in return. He is having a really difficult time recalling his rational for the slow burn, at this particular moment.</p><p> </p><p>When he was finally able to frame full sentences like an actual person, not a barking seal, he produces a small clear plastic box to her that he had hidden behind his back.</p><p> </p><p>“I got you this,” he pauses, “it’s a wrist corsage. Again, a little old fashioned… man I am really showing my age around you, aren’t I. Maybe it’s too corny…” he trails off with a slight insecurity.  </p><p> </p><p>“It’s beautiful!” Her eyes brighten further like glowing stars. She giggles like a school girl as he opens the plastic container and gently places it upon her wrist. It’s a simple violet lily, with a few sprigs of baby’s breath. He would have loved for it to have been a hydrangea, reminiscent of the bouquet she gave him a year ago, one of their early connection moments. But the blooms on hydrangea’s are massive and would have over-powered her delicate wrist. Regardless she seems pleased with his choice, resulting in his chest puffing with an internal pride.  </p><p> </p><p>“The last time I wore one of these was my Senior Prom,” she says still gazing at the purple flower. “Except that this date is already so much better than that disappointment.”</p><p> </p><p>“What happened at your Prom? “He finds himself asking. He honesty wants to know, to know her even in the early years. And to also steer clear of anything that maybe a cause discontent this evening.</p><p> </p><p>He notices that she flushes deeply, as she averts her eyes to the ground. </p><p> </p><p>“A story for later” she murmurs. </p><p> </p><p>“Well dinner is later, and judging by pink highlighting your cheeks it is likely an interesting story, one that I certainly want to hear”.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, but I will most definitely require a glass of wine.” She says with a light chuckle.</p><p> </p><p>“Done! I am very much looking forward to hearing about Sylvie Brett from high school” It’s completely earnest, he wants to hear absolutely everything about what shaped this amazing woman before him.   </p><p> </p><p>XXX</p><p>Dinner conversation is perfectly easy. I guess that is common interests, a general awareness of difficult topics and overall knowing and understanding each other for years. They discuss renovations with gusto, even touching on their favorite home improvement shows. They converse with thankfulness about their siblings, biological or otherwise and fond memories of their childhoods. </p><p> </p><p>Finally, as the dinner plates have been removed, and a second round of drinks are provided Matt asks again. “So, you still haven’t told me about this disappointing date at your prom.”</p><p> </p><p>She rolls her eyes with obvious affection.</p><p> </p><p>“This inquiring mind needs to know Ms. Brett. Perhaps I can learn from someone else’s mistakes. Who was the guy?”</p><p> </p><p>“Harrison” she says simply. </p><p> </p><p>The doucbag who she left her at the alter in her home town, forcing her escape to Chicago. And the same ass who tried to manipulate her into leaving 51 to return to Indiana. He didn’t know Brett then as fully as now, but he knew the just of the history. He feels himself frown lightly and says, “I didn’t realize you were together in high school.” </p><p> </p><p>“Yup, got together Sophomore year, remained that way through Senior and community college. Not a lot of options in a small town.” She supplies.</p><p> </p><p>“Well I guess that explains your disappointment with the evening, Sev described the guy as lower than pond scum.” Kelly had had the opportunity to deal with Harrison first-hand at the firehouse. </p><p> </p><p>Her mouth ticks up at the corner, likely at reference to Kelly’s self-identified older brother tendencies. </p><p> </p><p>She shakes her head softly, “He wasn’t always scum, when we were first together, he was actually really sweet.” There she goes, pointing out the best in people, even ones who were not necessarily deserving. </p><p> </p><p>“So then, what was the Prom night disappointment?” he asks again with curiosity. He grabs his beer, bringing it to his lips for a swig while she responds. </p><p> </p><p>“Let’s just say, he was too excited over a particular Prom night rite of passage, leaving me rather hummm… sexually frustrated…”</p><p> </p><p>He sputters and clogs on the beer that had entered his mouth. He’s feels his eyes dish like saucers. She basically just outed her prom date for blowing his load to early and not looking after her needs. </p><p> </p><p>She grins at him in response to his shock. </p><p> </p><p>“You…?” he’s not quite sure what his questions is.</p><p> </p><p>“What… surprised that I had planned or hoped to lose by virginity on Prom night? I was not that innocent Matt Casey, ” she says in a low voice.</p><p> </p><p>“Right, right… well it can be a common misstep for guys that young…” he offers as acknowledgement.</p><p> </p><p>“Well then, it’s a good thing that I am currently dating an older man” she murmurs as she leans towards him across the table.  </p><p> </p><p>‘Holy shit’ this conversation just took at heated and pleasurable detour, with Sylvie planted expertly behind the wheel. </p><p> </p><p>“No pressure though, right?” he chuckles.</p><p> </p><p>“Not worried, I have complete confidence in ALL your abilities Cap-tain,” she practically purrs his rank like a feline. Damm, he really, really enjoys the ways she executes his title. He stifles the formation of a groan by locking his jaw together and digging his fingers into his thighs. Their stare remains locked, he can practically see the waves of heat ricocheting between them. It’s completely recognizant of their kiss the previous night outside her front door. He had remained the vision of self-control, right until the moment Sylvie had taken full governance of their make-out session. At which time he himself could have been observed as an eager hormone raging high-school boy. She may have confidence, but he is really questioning his own willpower when it comes to Sylvie Brett. He can’t fully understand it, except to consider that he is perhaps farther gone into this relationship that he has previously considered. </p><p> </p><p>As he is mulling over his waning resolve, he notes Sylvie’s gaze dart over his shoulder and then morph into a state of professional concern. He knows that look, has seen it hundreds of time previous. It immediately ignites the first responder in him. He glances over his shoulder to assess the situation, it appears to be a couple, an observably pregnant woman with either her boyfriend or husband. He overhears a heightened level of concern in the man’s voice, “Honey, I think we should get you to the hospital,” as Sylvie has already risen and is moving with intention to their nearby table. </p><p> </p><p>He of course follows, arriving to hear Sylvie introduce herself and identify herself as Paramedic. “Hello, I’m Sylvie Brett, Paramedic with the CFD, this is my friend Matt Casey, Captain of Station 51. I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation, but thought we might be of assistance?”</p><p> </p><p>The husband’s shoulders seem to lower, perhaps in some sort of relief. “I’m Jacob, this is my wife Jessica” he says pointing across the table. “She is 8 months pregnant, I am worried she might be in labor…”</p><p> </p><p>Jessica interrupts her husband, “It’s probably just false labor, again, we have been into the hospital twice in the past week for similar false alarms. I feel like I keep calling wolf. It’s our first and…” she trails off as a grimace takes over her features and her hand darts to her abdomen pushing hard against her side. </p><p> </p><p>Sylvie kneels in front of Jessica. “Do you mind if I do a quick assessment?” Jessica nods, while Sylvie asks various questions while gripping her pulse point and monitoring the time with her watch. When Jessica seems to grimace again after several minutes, he obverse Sylvie gently place her hands on the patients engorged stomach.  She immediately meets Jessica’s eyes in a non-verbal encouragement to mimic her breathing. After a minute, Jessica’s breathing returns to normal. </p><p> </p><p>“Well Jessica,” Sylvie says calmly, “It is my professional opinion that you are no-longer crying wolf, you are in full labor. Jacob, why don’t you go get your vehicle and bring it around to the front of the restaurant, the Captain and I will assist Jessica to meet you at the front door.” <br/>Matt glances at Jacob who is sporting a silly grin of realization, likely that he is shortly to be a father. Matt sees him shake his head slightly, he moves quickly not towards the door as Matt had expected but to plant a brash kiss on his wife lips. There is a sweet look exchanged between the couple, and Jessica tells him to “Go” in a tender voice. </p><p> </p><p>Once Jacob darts away to the exit, he assists Sylvie in getting Jessica from her chair, each of them flanking her sides and holding her up by the arms they walk her towards the door. They get outside minutes later and her loaded into the front seat, just as another contraction rips through Jessica’s body. Sylvie again mimics the appropriate breathing technique while buckling Jessica into the front seat. When it is done she turns to Jacob, “Her contractions are about 5 minutes a-part and lasting for approximately 1 minute. Chicago Med is literally blocks from here, so don’t rush, just drive carefully and safely okay?” Jacob immediately nods in understanding, saying “thank you” in repeated fashion. “Good luck” Sylvie says as she closes the passenger’s door and the car pulls from the curb. </p><p> </p><p>Matt can’t help himself, it’s not like he hasn’t seen her in action before, and this was really minor in terms of her demonstrated skills but he steps forward molding his chest to her back and engulfs her in a tight embrace from behind. “You are sooo good at that,” he murmurs into her hair in appreciation.  It is the closest they have been all night, and her lavender and vanilla scent has him licking his own lips like he just breathed in a delicious dessert. </p><p> </p><p>As he is contemplating what might actually be on the menu both literally and figuratively for dessert, he feels Sylvie let out a shuttering sigh from her tiny frame. It’s not like the mews or moans she emitted from their embrace and kissing the other night, this seems slightly hurt or pained. He turns her to face him, his hands still steady on her biceps. </p><p> </p><p>“You okay?” he questions trying to chart her facial expression. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, sure.” She responds, trying to smile at him with assurance, but it’s one of those strained smiles. The one that worries him.<br/>He opens his mouth counter that she might not be ‘okay’, just as she says, “I’m just suddenly tired, probably the downturn from the mini pump of adrenaline. Do you think we could call it a night?” Her request is sweet and earnest, so its not like he is going to refuse her. Yet he registers an uneasiness that seems to creep into mind and body.</p><p> </p><p>He finds himself nodding slowly, acknowledging that he is saddened by the sudden turn of events. He was truly enjoying their first date before this minor medical emergency. </p><p> </p><p>They make their way back inside; he dutifully pays the bill despite her subtle objections. But even those seem to Matt as half-hearted, as they lacked her typical teasing about his gentleman tendencies. The drive home is fairly quiet. It’s not like she is silent, there is easy conversation between them the entire drive. It’s like… like someone has silently lowered her dimmer switch just a few levels of light. Probably insurmountable levels to anyone observing, except for him, who is expertly aware of her typical radiance. </p><p> </p><p>When they are once again standing outside her front door, she doesn’t hesitate to kiss him yet again. It’s lovely and tender, but it too is just slightly muted to him. </p><p> </p><p>She finishes it with a soft smile for him. “Matt, tonight was amazing, were going to do it again, right?”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course,” he responds.  “I mean I definitely want too. I am yet to get my fill of you, Sylvie Brett.”</p><p> </p><p>She flushes lightly, “And mine of you Matt Casey. I’ll call you tomorrow?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, of course,” he responds.</p><p> </p><p>She rises to her toes one last time for a final peck at his mouth, then she opens the door a disappears behind it.</p><p> </p><p>And he stands there, staring at the perfect squares of the door’s panels, in some undetermined level of confusion. That was… well it wasn’t wrong, but it certainly wasn’t right. It was off, she was just off. Yes, she said and did all the right things, but ever since she finished treating the woman in labor at the restaurant she…</p><p> </p><p>The correlation slams him evenly in the chest, forcing him to suck in ragged breath between his teeth and momentarily squeeze his eyes shut. Why didn’t he realize it earlier? Julie, tonight’s events, treating the woman in labor had reminded Sylvie of Julie.</p><p> </p><p>Matt steps forward snagging the handle of her front door, turning and pushing it inward. She had left it unlocked, he would have to have a ‘discussion’ about that with her later. Not right now, right now she needs… he scans the living-room and kitchen to find them vacant. But notes the shower running down the hallway. He doesn’t hesitate striding down the hallway and knocking gently on the door and calling out </p><p> </p><p>“Sylvie, it’s Matt, can I come in, I need to say something?”</p><p> </p><p>He barely registers her voice say “Matt…” through wooded door. It somewhere between a whisper and a plea. </p><p> </p><p>“Sylvie, can I come in?” he asks again, his voice sounding a little more urgent in his own ears.</p><p> </p><p>He wants to throw open the damm door at the way her words sound, but she could also be in the shower, completely naked. And while he would love to see Sylvie without clothing in the shower, not specifically under these circumstances. He does the only reasonable thing he can think of at this moment.</p><p> </p><p>“Sylvie, I am coming in, with my hand over my eyes…” he slaps his right hand over his eyes and pushes at the bathroom door. He knows he must look like an idiot but couldn’t give a rip. He isn’t met with screams to ‘get out’, or a towel flung at his head, so he blindly reaches out his hand, again calling her name over the rain pounding from the shower head. He grasps nothing but dead air and hears nothing in response but the continued rhythm of droplets. He slowly parts a couple fingers like a child peaking at hide and seek. </p><p> </p><p>When he finally sees her through his fingertips, his hand slowly slips from it covering to his side. He believes he can actually hear the loud crack which occurs in his heart, resonating like the splitting of wood by an axe.  </p><p> </p><p>She is seated floor of the shower, feet now bare, legs tucked to her chest and arms banded around her knees like she is hugging herself. She remains fully clothed, the burgundy dress she had worn on their date, is now soaking wet sucked to every inch of her body. She looks tiny and vulnerable despite the small space of the stall. Her eyes meet his noting his presence, but she remains quiet.  </p><p> </p><p>Matt silently toes off his shoes and yanks off his socks, he unclips his wrist-watch placing it and his cellular on the bathroom counter. Lastly, he shrugs off his blazer to hang on the hook behind the door.  Gently pulling open the glass door to the shower he enters. The hot spray immediately drenches his remaining clothing but he could care less. He slides down the subway tile wall beside her, stretching his legs out before him. He slips an arm under her bent knees and one behind her arched back, lifting easily to maneuver her onto his lap. He holds her as tight as he dares, constricting his arms forcefully but not wanting to actually cause her any physical pain. He is determined hold together any cracked or broken pieces which may give way.</p><p> </p><p>They sit there for an undetermined period. Matt reasons he would remain for an eternity if required. <br/>“I’m sorry” she finally says over the jet spray… “for ruining our date.”</p><p> </p><p>“Shhhhh” he says, hoping it will be soothing, as he pulls the wet strands from her face. “You did not ruin anything. I’m sorry I didn’t get it in the moment. The connection between Jessica and Julie. That couldn’t have been easy.”</p><p> </p><p>She buries her face into his neck, a confirmation to him that he indeed nailed his theory causing her current state of being. She doesn’t yell or cry, she just digs her head in so deep between his shoulder and neck he is certain she is trying to get beneath his skin. To turn away from the reality just for a moment for a more comforting environment, while fisting the front of his shirt like it’s tethering him to her.  He will give her whatever time she needs, whatever she needs. This maybe an unfortunate blip towards her recovery, but he will ride it with her. This one an any others that unexpectedly arise.</p><p> </p><p>After another long period, Matt starts to feel the temperature of the falling liquid inch towards cool. He reaches above him to blindly shut off the water, Sylvie immediately shivers in response. </p><p> </p><p>“Let’s get you in some dry clothes” He says softly, shifting his grip so he can stand up with her in the crowded space. He finally sets her to her feet on the bathroom floor mat, immediately wrapping a towel around her shoulders. He unbuttons the top buttons of his own shirt hauling it off his head, quickly drying his torso and squeezing whatever moisture he can out of his dress pants. </p><p> </p><p>He retreats immediately from the bathroom to her bedroom right across the hall, Sylvie remaining standing there almost statue like, just watching him. While completing his next task he silently acknowledges the intimacy of the previous moment and the current one as he is now searching her dresser drawer for pajamas. He locates a set of fuzzy bottoms, imprinted with cats peeking out of coffee mugs and a CFD t-shirt. He sucks in a deep breath as he reaches the top drawer to grab her panties, his face flashing tomato red at the assortment of pastels, satin and lace. He will store that logged detail for another time. He shoves the drawer back closed, returning to her in the bathroom. </p><p> </p><p>“Here, can you change on your own?” he asks tentatively as he hands her the clothing. She nods. “Okay, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll just be outside the door.” </p><p> </p><p>She blinks repeatedly, then says as a whisper, “You’re wet too. There are some men’s clothes on the top shelf in my closet.” <br/>Matt arches a brow, uncertain as to why she has men’s clothing in her bedroom, and not relishing the idea of being in some other dude’s duds. She seems to understand it as a question, “They belong to Stella, she leaves them here for unplanned sleepovers. They are actually Kelly’s so the fit should be okay.”</p><p> </p><p>He leaves, grabs the clothing she mentioned, CFD sweats and a basic t-shirt, perfect. He returns just as she is opening the bathroom door, fully clothed in dry pjs. They silently trade places, he strips his remaining clothing in favor of Kelly’s sweats. </p><p> </p><p>When he emerges from the bathroom, he is mildly surprised to find her still stationed just outside the door. It’s like she is still in need of his proximity. He can absolutely continue to accommodate that. He is just grateful that she seems resided to let him. </p><p> </p><p>“Let’s get you comfortable, the couch or the bed?” he suggests.</p><p> </p><p>“Bed” she says simply.</p><p> </p><p>He encases her hand in his own, pulling her straight across the hallway and towards the side of the bed. Flipping back the duvet corner near the pillow he motions for her to climb between the covers. </p><p> </p><p>“Get in, I’ll tuck you in and then headed out once you are settled” he says it aloud. He say it because it’s the right thing to say, but it’s not what he wants. He wants to stay. To remain with her burrowed into his embrace until falls asleep, and while she sleeps. He wants this simple act of holding her through the night with the same intensity and longing as he felt the previous night during their heated kiss.  </p><p> </p><p>She must read his mind or have the same need because all she says is “Stay”.</p><p> </p><p>He lets out a breath of relief he had no idea he was withholding from himself. </p><p> </p><p>“Get in” he says again gently. “I’ll lock the front door and let Sev know I’m not coming home.”</p><p> </p><p>When the apartment is secure and a text shot off to his roommate, he re-enters Sylvie’s bedroom, latching the bedroom door in his wake. He wonders if she has already fallen asleep, her back to him as he slides under the now shared blanket. But the moment his body is fully engulfed in the mattress, she rolls over completely. Like a flipped magnet, she draws herself to him fully and securely. She lifts his arm wedging her entire body against his side, her cheek on his chest, hand again fisting the front of his shirt and a leg draping over his thigh. He sighs into the hold himself, burying his own face in her damp blond hair. God he wants this, how does he keep this? This feeling of his offered comfort, reassurance and dependence being willingly and wantedly accepted by another, by her specifically.</p><p> </p><p>“Matt?” she whispers in the dark, interrupting that last thought desire. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah?” he responds letting her know that he heard her utterance.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t let go” she says, moving even closer, though he can’t fathom how it is even possible.</p><p> </p><p>“Not a chance” he responds, knowing it’s the honest truth.</p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. "Keep your eyes on me"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Argh this update took forever, I am sorry! It's again a personal chapter for me. Sylvie being able to use her personal experience with depression to connect and help another. It was a huge turning point in my own recovery, to realize my own strength and might and being able to build up someone else. Hope that I did it justice. Let me know your thoughts please!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>34 minutes.</p><p> </p><p>He has been fully awake and lying in bed for… 34 minutes. It’s completely uncharacteristic for him. Because he is a simple man who understands function and a bed really has two functions, sleep and sex, yet he is surprisingly content not to be engaged in either at this moment.</p><p> </p><p>Content maybe his attempt to downplay the current emotions swelling and surging in his body, as he continues to stare at the angel beside him in bed. </p><p> </p><p>She is cherubic. Her golden hair sprayed across the pillowcase, in what should be a tangled mess but instead looks like spun silk moving in a soft wind. Her eyes remain closed, light lashes kissing pinked cheeks giving her a morning glow. Her rosy lips are slightly parted as soft breaths escape in an easy rhythm. Even her hands scream to her heavenly origins as they are tucked together between her one cheek and her pillowcase, like she is preforming morning prayers.  </p><p> </p><p>Matt knows that he is staring like the swooning idiot that Sev has previously accused him of becoming but he can’t turn away. He has remained tethered to her loveliness, now for… 37 minutes, aside from having flicked his eyes to the clock over her right shoulder. It sadly tells him that he needs to wake her, as their shift starts in just over an hour.</p><p> </p><p>He finally resigns himself to be ‘the bad guy’ and wake the sleeping beauty. He gently caresses her exposed cheek, rubbing his thumb across her cheek bone. He is in awe that even through his deep callouses he can feel the silkiness of her skin. </p><p> </p><p>He whispers not wanting to startle her awake, “Time to wake up sunshine.”  </p><p> </p><p>She lets out a soft noise which is somewhere between a purr and a moan. He bites his own lip, to keep in a fond chuckle, then tries again, “Sylvie, open those gorgeous eyes for me”.</p><p> </p><p>This time her eyes flicker open, like turning on an incident light bulb for the first time in ages. Once they are fully wide and padlocked with his, he watches in complete awe at the smile which grows like… well like he is watching an emerging sunrise. In response, Matt finds himself sucking in an extremely ragged breath as he realizes that smile this morning is exclusively for him.  </p><p> </p><p>“Morning” she says softly.</p><p> </p><p>Before he can respond with a similar pleasantry, Sylvie closes the smallish gap between their bodies. She burrows her head into his chest, a soft hand slipping to the skin of his stomach where his shirt has ridden up in the night. She slides a thigh between his legs, nestling it next to the morning wood which is silently now making its-self known. Its like she has pulled this maneuver with him a thousand time previous given the ease in which she settles in. </p><p> </p><p>She mumbles something in the crook of his neck and chest, which he has no chance of understanding given how well she has pressed herself into him.  </p><p> </p><p>“What was that?” he mumbles into her hair, which again has that delicious aroma of citrus. </p><p> </p><p>He strokes his finger tips up and down her spine, he swears he can feel goose bumps flourishing under his strokes, even though her t-shirt. He loves how responsive her body is to the simplest of touch. He can’t wait to witness ALL her responses.</p><p> </p><p>She pulls back so that their eyes meet again. “I said, snuggling into you is better than being in a ball pit of puppies.” </p><p> </p><p>He forehead wrinkles and he laughs gently at her description, “Really?”</p><p> </p><p>“Absolutely, you have probably never cuddled yourself, so you will just have to trust my assessment” she says with absolute confidence in her voice. </p><p> </p><p>“You are right can’t say I have cuddled myself, however I am certain I have the better end of the deal here Sylvie Brett…” He finds his voice dropping to something low and longing. “You are warm, smooth and soft in all the right places.” Now he runs his hand at the small of her back with a little more aggression.</p><p> </p><p>A blush immediately paints her cheeks, a flash of heat ignites behind her eyes suddenly blinding him in intensity. Her lips part with expectance. And just like that he is reeled in like a poor fish.  </p><p> </p><p>He crosses the remaining distance between them to capture her lips with his own. A moan immediately escapes him as she wastes no time in pushing her tongue past his lips to stroke against his. It is a delicious and stirring rhythm which is rapidly urging up the core temperature of his body. She now has a hand in his hair, both tugging at his short ends and seemingly pushing his head towards her mouth at the same time. When she shifts both her pelvis and thigh to rub against his hardened length, his temperature spikes; like moving from a climate controlled building out into Chicago heat in middle of August. The wall of hotness knocking the breath from his body. </p><p> </p><p>He shifts them quickly so that she is now fully on her back, her body is wholly sandwiched between him and the bed. The heated study of each other’s mouths continues, and quickly it shifts too wet and rough and hot. Fuck she is hot! Their onslaught is likely bruising both their mouths, but he doesn’t want to stop.    </p><p> </p><p>Her hands are now urgently running the length of his torso and slipping deliberately under his shirt, she scrapes short finger-nails down his chest and stomach, which makes him shudder. Fuck that feels amazing! Fricken out of this world! </p><p> </p><p>His own hand slides effortlessly under her t-shirt, his thumb gliding up a smooth stomach while his fingers explore the indent of each rib. When his hand brushes the underside of her breast, she arches into him and tugs aggressively at the back of his shirt obviously trying to rid it from his body. </p><p> </p><p>His sentiment exactly, but Shit! If they start losing clothing, he is sunk. Slowing or even stopping will be next to impossible. How does this keep happening? His attempts at the slow burn continually hijacked by the woman before him.   </p><p> </p><p>With his last once of resolve he pulls his mouth from hers, a loud pop of separated lips echoing in his ears. He goes even farther to raise himself almost in plank position over her body, needing some physical distance to once again grasp at any iota of control. Yet her sweet body heat and smell seem to chase him across the distance he has created urging him to resume. </p><p> </p><p>She blinks her eyes open like she is dazed and confused. He can barely see the blues of her eyes as pupils widened to the expanse of her irises. She is deeply flushed, lips engorged and damp and her chest is rising and falling in rapid succession. He bites back a full groan, realizing all that gloriousness is in response to him. It might be the sexiest vision he has ever had the pleasure of witnessing. </p><p> </p><p> She blinks a few additional times, then a Cheshire cat grin stretching across her face, “Matt Casey, the ever present gentleman” she comments.</p><p> </p><p>“Barely…” he breaths out. “You do something to me Sylvie. All my good intentions disappear faster… than a plate of Cindy’s brownies.” </p><p> </p><p>She smiles knowingly and fully understanding his analogy. “I get it,” she replies “making out with you is like eating a giant funfetti cake, topped with rainbow sprinkles and covered in cherry chapstick, its completely addictive and all I want is more,” she grins like a child providing the delicious description. ‘God damm’, could she be any more adorable’. </p><p> </p><p>‘More…’ yeah he gets that entirely. When he is with her ‘more’ seems to be chanted on repeat like a skipping record. More of her lips, her hands, her body, yes… of course, she’s a beautiful angel built for sinful thoughts and actions. But ‘more’ also including everything else Sylvie Brett openly and willingly offers him. Her loyalty, her honesty, her compassion and forgiveness, her strength, her determination… and hopefully in the end, if he is fortunate enough… her love. Because being honest with himself that is where this is going for him isn’t it. That IS what is truly connected to his lacking self-discipline, he is falling for Sylvie Brett, hard! He might not be at the point of wordy confessions but that is the only trajectory he can foresee, that is the more he wants. All of it.   </p><p> </p><p>While he reaffirms his desires for ‘more’ in his mind, he acknowledges the physical strain starting in his arms and torso as he has now been holding a plank-like-position for a couple minutes. He moves off her to sit, she mirrors his actions by sitting upwards to face one another on the bed. </p><p> </p><p>If he is resigned and determined for more… “I think we, or at least I, need some guidelines, or boundaries… in terms of this physical chemistry” he says thinking aloud. </p><p> </p><p>“Seriously?” she giggles.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, you are entirely too tempting Ms. Brett” he says with complete earnestness.</p><p> </p><p>She bites her lip, her eyes dancing at him with some level of amusement. Then she horribly tries at a serious face and says “Okay, name your terms Mr. Casey.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well I don’t think I can go very long without kissing you again, so making out undeniably going to continue. But we should probably keep our clothing on for the time being, and avoid making out in your bed or my bed or any sort of mattress really, its just way too… inviting.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay… but I can slip my hands under your clothing right? To actually touch you?” there is a neediness in her tone. The same one he feels buried in his bones while in her physical proximity.</p><p> </p><p>Argh, talking about this is doing nothing in terms of extinguishing the flames in his body. “Yes” he says his mouth dry remembering the delight of her nails down his chest. He absolutely wants that experience again. “But for now, we keep it above the belt buckle?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sure…” she warmly smiles. She’s not put out, frustrated or perturbed by his constant tapping of the breaks. “But this is very high-school of us you know, we are essentially drawing the line a second base.” Although the words are slightly teasing, equally at both of them, as she used the terms ‘us’ and ‘we’, he can also detect fondness and admiration. She gets it. She understands the path and plans he wants for them, whether the details have been said aloud or not. She wants it too and they are working at matching strides for the long term goal. Being together.   </p><p> </p><p>XXX</p><p> </p><p>”What have we got?” Matt asks a bystander having exited his truck. Ambo, Truck and Squad have been called for a person in distress, on a bridge. Matt doesn’t actually have to ask, he knows what this means… someone is looking to end their life, but he is procedural so does it anyways. </p><p> </p><p>“The young woman on the other side of the guardrail”, says the guy quickly moving towards him, “I think she might jump, heard her mumbling about already being dead inside.”</p><p> </p><p>Crap he hates being right in this circumstance, he switches on his radio, “51 to Main, how long until we can get someone here to talk down a potential jumper?”</p><p> </p><p>His radio cracks back in response “they are on route but it’s at least 15 minutes out 51.”</p><p> </p><p>A bundle of swear words bounce around in his brain, that is much longer than he had hoped.</p><p> </p><p>“Let me try to talk to her”, he hears Sylvie say at his shoulder. </p><p> </p><p>His initial response racketing about his head, ‘No, no fucking way, HELL NO’.  That is 40 foot drop to frigged water, which will be like concrete to anyone that hits it. That guardrail that barely hits one’s waist separating the bridge deck and said fall. In addition, jumpers have this scary tendency to reach for or pull at those within reach if they suddenly have a change of heart. Yet he knows reasonably that all those concerns can be managed, safely. Hell, he has done it himself countless times. No, his strong apprehension has everything to do with Sylvie specifically being the volunteer.   </p><p> </p><p>She continues to stare at him awaiting his answer. A silent plea seems to speak from her eyes, ‘let me do this, I can do this.’ He knows she can, not a doubt, she has the ability on the professional level and even a personal one. He just… he wants desperately to keep her from this, from anything that will remind her of shadows she has been working at escaping. Is that so wrong? To want to keep her safe not only physically but also her spirit, her sole, her heart. He witnessed the blip last night, the pregnant woman remaindering her of Julie and its aftermath. How would she come back from this? If they lost this young lady… </p><p> </p><p>Yet she was asking, offering, made even desperate to prove… something to herself. She certainly did have anything to prove to him.  <br/>Matt finds himself glancing at Kelly. He suspects he is going to concede, but he needs... he needs to a second check because he is not just thinking like a Captain right now, he is feeling too.</p><p> </p><p>Kelly of course understand his unspoken questions and issues a firm nod of affirmation. </p><p> </p><p>His verbal response is stern and as Captain like as he can manage given the turmoil he is experiencing inside. Looking directly into her deep blue eyes he hears himself saying, “You are harnessed and roped, remaining on this side of the guardrail and the channel on your radio remains open at all times so I can hear what is happening. And if I say your done you walk away, immediately, absolutely no argument. Copy that?”</p><p> </p><p>“Copy”, she replies.</p><p> </p><p>“Cruz, Capp get Brett geared up”, Kelly shouts to his team as Sylvie makes her way their direction.</p><p> </p><p>Kelly starts to turn away as well to assist, “Sev”… Matt says, his voice a slight wobble as he grabs his friends’ turnout jacket by the sleeve. Matt recognizes that he currently doesn’t have the ability to form any additional words, so doesn’t even try. Kelly again understands. God bless his unbiological brother.  </p><p> </p><p>“We got her Case, I promise” they both know that “her” is NOT a reference to the woman currently standing on the ledge.</p><p> </p><p>He watches Sylvie approach the rail with a distressing feeling of angst and helplessness. He is absolutely holding his breath, its is trapped uncomfortably in his throat like he has swallowed a golf ball. </p><p> </p><p>He hears through the radio Sylvie’s soft voice, “Hey hun, my name is Sylvie, I’m a paramedic, what’s your name sweety?”</p><p> </p><p>“Amara” the young girl responds, but it is complete dead pan. </p><p> </p><p>“Amara, that’s a beautiful name”. Sylvie comments. “Amara, I going to come a little closer, I just want to talk okay?”</p><p> </p><p>Amara remain still, not responding or even looking Sylvie’s direction.</p><p> </p><p>“Amara, can you talk to me Hun, tell me what you are thinking, or feeling?” Sylvie asks taking small and slow steps her direction.</p><p> </p><p>The young woman doesn’t respond, says nothing, so Sylvie continues, “The man who was concerned and called us, he said that you mentioned feeling dead inside…” Matt can hear the understanding in her voice even through the radio.</p><p> </p><p>He observes Amara’s head slowly turn, her eyes casting to Sylvie. ‘Good job Sylvie’ you have her engaged now. Just keep her talking, but please, please don’t get too close.</p><p> </p><p>He hears Sylvie continue, “I’ve felt that once, recently actually. I lost a number of people I loved and cared about.” His feels a hand around his heart squeeze at the auditable reminder of Sylvie’s own pain.</p><p> </p><p>Amara responds, “My mom, dad, and sister, they died last month in a car accident.”</p><p> </p><p>“I'M SORRY” Sylvie says, accenting each word to emphasis her understanding.</p><p> </p><p>Sylvie doesn’t stop, “After the last person I love went away, I had this image or daydream about all my loses…. This visual span of my life riddled with all the people who have left me. At the beginning it just hurt, the pain unbearable, but by the end of this sort of reliving my life I just felt void, numb, even dead.  I’ve thought a lot about it since, that absent feeling, I think that maybe we eventually go numb because you can’t break a heart that is already broken, or because we just feel so much that we just start to feel nothing. Either way the end result was vacancy and feeling dead inside.”</p><p> </p><p>‘God bless this woman’ Matt thinks, pride threatening to burst from his chest. For Sylvie to be so open and vulnerable and courageous, sharing her own experience not only with this woman but over the radio for the entirety of 51 to witness.   </p><p> </p><p>“You don’t look vacant or dead right now”, Amara comments.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I had this guy who cares about me a lot. He’s kinda helped me start to find my way out of the shadows,” Sylvie responds.</p><p> </p><p>“How did he do that?” Amara asks, a tinge of hope in her voice. Like maybe Sylvie has all the answers for her.</p><p> </p><p>“Well…” Sylvie starts, “his method was unconventional and wouldn’t really apply in this case, but the point is that he was able to light a spark again in all that darkness I was feeling.” </p><p> </p><p>Matt exchanges a knowing glance with Kelly as Sylvie continues, “I believe he would have done anything and everything to figure out how to get me back from that place.”</p><p> </p><p>She’s right, anything and everything humanly possible, maybe even something that weren’t if he could manage them.  </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t have anyone like that in my life, not anymore” Amara says like her last hope has now vanished.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, what about me?” Sylvie asks tentatively. “I’m not a counsellor or doctor, and we have just met, but I’m willing and can certainly be just as determined as that guy was for me. I don’t know what will take to light your spark again, but if you let me, I promise to do anything and everything to help you figure it out. What do you say Amara, will you let me try for you? Please honey?”</p><p> </p><p>Amara seems to consider then issues a small nod.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay sweety, I’m going to come closer and I want you to reach out and take my hand…” Sylvie says as she presses her body against the guardrail. Crap, she is too close. Then the sequence before him turns nightmare like. Just as Sylvie gets ahold of Amara hand, the young woman shuffling towards Sylvie on the narrow edge it happens, Amara loses her footing. </p><p> </p><p>Matt first hears the tinge of line becoming taunt, it’s as loud as a gun firing in his head. Cruz then grunts at its sudden shift and added weight on the ropes. Capp moves quickly assisting Cruz also grasping the line. He and Kelly respond in unison launching forward at a dead sprint to the edge of the bridge. Matt reaches Sylvie first, who is now folded in half over guardrail, both her hands gripping at Amara’s single wrist. He grabs at the harness holding Sylvie’s body like the life-line it has suddenly become. ‘Fuck, no he is not losing her, not like this, not now’. Kelly is now beside Sylvie trying to assist in reaching Amara. </p><p> </p><p>Amara is screaming in terror, looking down at the water.</p><p> </p><p>“Amara….” Sylvie says. “Amara look at me”, she now shouts at the young woman sternly but through gritted teeth. It’s with such commanding authority, Matt thinks it would be sexy if they were in the middle of a rescue.</p><p> </p><p>Amara glances up, so Sylvie says, “Keep your eyes on me.” Amara seems to respond again with a brief nod.</p><p> </p><p>“Now, reach up with you other hand and grab on to Kelly” she orders jerking her head to Severide at her side. “You can Amara, do it… I’ve got you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve got you,” she says it again.  </p><p> </p><p>The same words he had chanted to her, ‘I’ve got you’. It’s more than ‘I wont let you fall to your death’, it’s the same assurance he sought to provide, ‘I am here’, ‘I’m with you’, ‘I’m never leaving’, ‘We are in this together, you and me’, ‘I will ALWAYS be here.’</p><p> </p><p>Kelly finally gets a hold of Amara’s other wrist, immediately fastening webbing to it as added support. Then there is grunting and tugging by both Brett and Severide as they haul the young woman up. Even when Amara is safely over the guardrail, and Sylvie is now standing to her full height Matt hands remain clinched on her harness. He looks down to see his knuckles stark white from their grip, he stares briefly commanding them to release but his brain and body seem disconnected in some weird fashion.</p><p> </p><p>He feels Sylvie attempt to shift and turn, but she remains caught in by the harness and his hands. She glances at him over her shoulder, their eyes meeting for the first time since this terrifying ordeal started. They are filled with comprehension which seems to volley back and forth between them, the remnants of worry and fear, combined with release, shelter, safety, reassurance and a heady dose of relief. </p><p> </p><p>“Matt,” she says softly for only the two of them can hear, “You can let go now.”</p><p> </p><p>He is actually not sure that he physically can. He could have lost her, she could have been pulled over… he can barely finish the thought, without a ghostly shudder threatening his frame. She maneuvers slightly to place a hand on his forearm rubbing soothing stokes, again she says his name. “Matt… I’m safe, you had me the whole time.” God the trust… the faith she has in him, every-time, with everything, it’s unbelievable.  </p><p> </p><p>He sucks in a deep breath and releases it slowly while uncurling his fingers. She notes his release and immediately begins unfastening the harness and stepping out of it. She glances beside her to Severide who still has the young woman in his arms.</p><p> </p><p>“I need to get Amara to med,” she says. But before she slips fully back to the professional she can be, she reaches up to place a hand on his cheek. It is warm and real, he finds himself immediately leaning into the very intimate embrace and cups his own hand on top of it. She gives him the most delicate, beautiful but all too brief smile, and then she lets go and returns to her patient. She walks away and he is certain that she has just taken another piece of his heart with her.</p>
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